


Something About Zim

by blackjacq (Annabeelee)



Series: Operant Pupation [1]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Codependency, Drama, Emotionally Repressed, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Family Drama, Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Medical Experimentation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Painplay, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Masturbation, Rough Oral Sex, Slice of Life, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, Whump, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 61,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22850629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabeelee/pseuds/blackjacq
Summary: It's one thing to have to deal with a violent, unpredictable, depressed Zim in a child sized package; it’s a whole other story when he begins to go through a rapid growth spurt and gains some new features and confidence. Not to mention intergalactic bounty hunters, latent dad issues, and finals popping up… Dib’s just not having the best time recently.
Relationships: Dib & Zim (Invader Zim), Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Series: Operant Pupation [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932118
Comments: 123
Kudos: 693





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to see if I could write a passable IZ fic, so y’all get to deal with that alongside me. Unbeta'd

_Log date: 3,24- no, September- forget it! There’s too many to count. Computer! Edit in the correct number when I’m done._

_“No.”_

_Silence! Now where was I?_

_Ah, yes. The molt._

_One insignificant Earth month ago, I completed my annual molt as I documented in a previous log, and it was PERFECT. AS ALL THINGS I DO ARE. But something’s changed._

_My carapace is...peeling. Flaking. And it itches. Oh, the itching. SO. BAD. I have tried EVERYTHING to make it stop; hydrating goo soaks, stinky_ **_burning_ ** _Earth remedies, a large stick, GIR’s tiny metal...claw… things…_

 _BUT STILL I PEEL. And_ **_hurt._ ** _Why do I hurt? Like my bones and muscles are_ **_tearing_ ** _and_ **_cracking_ ** _without purpose. MY BODY BETRAYS ZIM._

 _I have heard of nothing like this before. Nothing in the archives I still have access to mention any sort of reaction like this to any Irken known disease or allergen. I scoured all that I could_ **_three times_ ** _over, and yet I find nothing! The Tallest still have me locked out of all Irken frequencies for some rea-_

_No, I cannot think like that anymore. The Control Brains cut my connection. Without that, I can’t search any databases for answers to my… condition. I’m all alone. I will have to find another way to get my answers, before I dry up like an OLD. DRY. THING._

_I cannot let the Dib see me like this. What will he think? In my weakness? HE WILL LAUGH. WITH HIS TERRIBLE HUMAN MOUTH. He will be showing up soon, as Zim has not graced him with my presence in a while. Stupid predictable Dib._

_HE IS OBSESSED WITH ME and who wouldn’t be? I will need to keep him from seeing my condition with his judgey eye holes. Luckily, I have the perfect cover for such an occasion..._

* * *

So, Zim’s been weird lately. Alright, he’s been generally out of it for… well, a while now. You can’t really blame the guy, considering he got booted from his race for what Dib can safely assume are war crimes on his own people, but Dib also can’t muster the most amount of sympathy for the little green alien considering… everything else that happened to cause that. There's still a memorial downtown near Dib's part time job that slows his commute everyday for people visiting it. 

He saw the correspondence the Big Brains or whatever they were called sent Zim after the alien went MIA for a few weeks a little over a year ago. When Dib finally came around looking for him, Zim had reluctantly brought him inside his obnoxious house, down to the control room in his base, sat him down in front of his massive computer, and, with a quivering claw, pressed play. 

The Tallest hadn’t even talked, just stood to the side as the large multi-eyed spheres delivered their verdict from billions of lightyears away. Zim had broken the last straw, was cut off, excommunicated, out of the system, and if he showed up within shooting range of any Irken property, he’d be put down without trial. They concluded that this decision was final, permanent, and unchangeable before the transmission ended abruptly, leaving a palpable sense of doom to the whole thing.

Needless to say, Zim had been… upset didn’t describe the inconsolable hysteria and mania that followed for a month or two. There was a lot of begging, calling the now defunct line, outright denial, bargaining, anger and finger pointing at everyone around Zim who was not Zim; it had been a whole ordeal that had left Dib with more than a few lacerations and bruises from trying to wrestle a flailing alien from getting into his Voot to go and beg for forgiveness directly.

And as dramatic and out of left field the initial mourning period had felt, the following quiet moping had come on just as suddenly and stubbornly. Zim had gone almost silent for two months, just sort of appearing and fading from Dib’s shitty apartment on a whim, watching bizarre videos on Dib’s second hand laptop, eating Dib’s snacks… That had always warranted a call to GIR to come collect his master. Dib didn’t have the money to spend on Zim’s depressive snack habit. 

Luckily, Zim started perking back up over the semester’s finals, giving Dib his laptop back and more time to study since he wasn’t watching Zim suspiciously for any sudden movements toward the shower, which he has found him burning in. Three separate times. Fuck, that had been brutal, dragging a smoking alien out of his bathroom to desperately pat him down while his carapace bubbled. He still had nightmares.

Dib worked them through it, not that he had much of a choice, and Zim came around eventually, and while he’s still not quite the exuberant egotist Dib had spent the better part of ten years fighting, he’s still a paranoid, self centered antagonistic moron who spends most of his time trying (successfully) to get a rise out of Dib. Dib can deal with that though. He has been dealing with it. He prefers it, especially in contrast to most people. 

Maybe prefers it too much. Who knows. He chalks it up to 'being numbed by time' to Zim's volatile nature and leaves it at that. He doesn't need to put any more thought into it.

Recently, however, Zim’s been off again. And by off, Dib means Zim hasn’t been around in at least a week. And if Zim is still seeking attention but not physically showing up, then he’s hiding something. And Dib has never been good at just letting that slip by. He knows the green menace is alive because he keeps getting sent various questionable human-imagined versions of aliens that Zim has recently discovered to be very funny. It’s just that usually Zim is sitting half-eaten by Dib’s duct-taped bean bag chair cackling madly while sending him weird photos. It’s not that he finds himself missing Zim when he just disappears for a while, that would be insane. 

But his apartment is quiet when it’s just him in it and it's easier to avoid ruminating on anything too much if Zim’s taking up most of his attention.

So, when the weekend comes around, Dib’s got no photo jobs lined up, no shifts till Monday, no plans with Gaz till Sunday, no classes demanding too much, he puts on a nice shirt, immediately swaps it out for a normal one because why the fuck would he do that, and takes a familiar bus to Zim’s place. When he knocks on the door, GIR greets him in the dog suit with a hug on the leg and asks after the ‘wife and kids’ and Dib tells him they are doing just great before making his way into the depths of Zim's base.

* * *

Zim screams upon seeing Dib enter his research (fuck around on the computer) room, pointing an accusatory claw at him from under what looks like an old comforter Dib had been looking for what feels like months now. He’s cocooned himself, barely visible save for those big eyes of his and the aforementioned arm tracking Dib as he steps closer. Even with the added mass of the bedding, the alien still seems dwarfed by everything around him.

“Dib-stink! How did you get past Zim’s ingenious security?” Dib cannot recall a time when this exact greeting was still shocking to him. He’s just glad it's not some kind of flesh melting gun pointed his way.

“Zim, I’ve been coming in here for years now.” He stops a few feet from where Zim is seated and glaring at him suspiciously. 

“Nonsense! Computer! I set up a protocol last night to eliminate anyone who dared to come into the lair of _Zim._ Why is the Dib here?”

“You told me to put Dib on the whitelist.” The computer whines and Zim narrows his eyes, arm changing trajectory to point angrily vaguely up to where the computer’s automated voice rang from.

“You lie!”

“Did you want me to take him off the whitelist?” The questions hangs in the air as the arm retracts itself slowly and angrily as Zim grumbles for what feels like a solid minute. 

“...no…” The claw comes back at Dib. “But don’t let that go to your oversized head, Dib!” He readjusts the comforter around himself, still mumbling about ‘needing his trust for his brilliant plans’ or something. What plans those were, Dib doubted they added up to more than stealing his chips. There’s always some nagging part of him that anxiously worries it's more world domination, but given the circumstance, Dib has room to squash those thoughts.

Dib steps up closer to where Zim is side-eyeing him with contempt, wrapped up in Dib’s frayed blanket and pretending to read through what appeared to be Irken biology reports. He could ask about why Zim took his stuff, but, honestly, it’ll end up back at Dib’s at some point after being angrily thrown in his face for daring to think Zim would want it. He’s learned to pick his battles, especially ones that don’t concern the end of the world. 

“Why is Dib bothering me? I didn’t ask you to come over.” There’s a shifting under the comforter, back and forth over where his arm must rest, like he’s scratching himself. He's got an irritated, exhausted look in his expression that seemingly has little to do with Dib being here.

“I was wondering where you were. You haven’t been around in a week or two.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, it feels like an admission to...something. What, he’s not sure, but he shakes it off as he takes another step closer. Zim ducks his head away when Dib peers into the self-made hood. "I just realized I have so many chips no one's eating, I finally figured out why they're still in my cupboard."

“I don't need your pitiful chips... and I have a life outside of your filthy eye...senses... !” Zim insists, keeping his face obscured even as he begins furiously itching his forehead.

“No, you don’t.” He replies with a snort. It's clear somethings up with the alien, and it’s not even a thought process that has Dib formulating a plan to figure out what. “What’s going on with you?” He reaches out, automatically making a grab for the comforter but Zim flinches back, and before he knows it, they’re in a tug-of-war over the thing. Despite being half his size, Zim still has a pretty good grip when he wants to, snarling at Dib.

“No!" Zim's got his claws dug in, trying to pull it tighter around him. "Do not look upon me!” 

Finally, Dib wrestles the covers off the alien to much shouting and tearing, and when Zim is finally revealed, Dib’s mouth drops. 

“Zim… are you shedding?” He's seen Zim pale before, like a freezer burnt pea, but this is something else, because now, Zim is a frozen pea, or at least could be confused for one. His usually taught face is cracked, wrinkled, pieces of him just falling off as he lowers his arms from where they were failing to cover his face. His green is dull, even where the shed parts have recently fallen off like there's more layers of the stuff waiting their turn to end up on the floor. 

Dib would laugh, would have laughed in the past, but now he's just sad for the guy.

“Molting!” Zim decries incredulously, absentmindedly plucking another strip of whatever his epidermis/carapace/whatever is made of off his cheek. He truly looks like he had a run in with a cheese grater after a particularly bad sunburn. “Irkens do not shed like your disgusting legless Earth worm-snakes.”

“Yeah, I know,” Zim had been more than happy to tell him about his ‘annual’ (by Irken standards) molt and all the wet, disgusting details that it entailed, which Dib had listened to completely enraptured because he may be 21 but he's still a fucking weirdo who gobbles this shit up. “but I thought you did that a month ago.” 

“How do you know about that?!” Zim's distrust will never die, will it? No matter how many times Dib lets him into his apartment and drags him out of whatever depressive mood he's in, Zim can't let that baked in anxiety go. He knows why Zim can't, but... Dib groans at the paranoia, ten years of frustration coming out in one long sigh.

“You told me!” He exclaims finally, arms open incredulously. Zim blinks at him, caught off guard.

“Eh? Oh…” He waves a hand dismissively, hopping off the tattered office chair (that Dib had rummaged out of a dumpster sometime ago when Zim started letting him putz around on his computer in his Irken archives), to yank the bedding dramatically back over him from where it fell. “I’m having some reaction to something or another. Don’t worry your tiny pea brain over it.” 

“Fine, I won’t.” He would and did, covertly checking Zim over as he re-wrapped himself in the quilt, eyeing his frantic scratching at his abdomen and chest. He seemed about as miserable as Zim would let himself appear, presumably why he hadn’t bothered to bother Dib in a week. He could press the issue, but it wasn’t worth it. Zim would come out about it eventually, whether he means to or not and he doesn’t look like he’s dying or anything.

Zim struts over the dingy chair, turning back to Dib with a glare. "Well?"

They end up how they always do: Dib reading through observations on alien races and customs and Zim having wormed his way into his lap, tapping away at some form of tablet. It happens even at Dib’s place while he works on research essays and other various homework and, if question, he wouldn’t have answer to how it started or when. They don’t talk, or even really touch outside of the absolute necessary contact that their positions require; just two beings sharing a space in that fits them both comfortably and together. 

Today is hot, uncomfortable with the added weight of the comforter in the middle of August, and Dib's sweating under his clothes. He'd rather suffer through it though, enjoying the quiet moments in spite of the warmth, and the acknowledgement of that fact is as far as he'll let himself get.

It’s fine. They’re fine. Dib doesn’t think too much into it, doesn’t think too much into what their _themness_ even was, just lets it happen and when Zim eventually gets bored and starts picking his molt, rolling into little balls and tossing them in Dib’s face, and Dib throws him off his lap and chases the alien around his lab, threatening to sell his organs to the FBI, it's just how they're supposed to be. Everything is normal. 

Everything is fine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warning: Forced medical procedures/examination, needles, mention of potentially non-consensual touching

Most well-adjusted adults would find waking up shirtless and strapped to what only could be described as an alien dentist’s chair alarming, to say the least.

“Wha- where ‘m I?”

For Dib, it’s just a normal Sunday. 

“Zim!”

“Quit your insignificant wriggling. ” Something rough and pointy prods painfully on his forehead. “As much as I enjoy the Dib’s _squirming_ , you're knocking the probe out of place.” At those words, the sleepy numbness of unconscious sharply snaps as the radiating _hurt_ of something sharp jammed into his body slams into him. 

Oh, he's got a massive needle in his spine. Cool. It’s a slightly abnormal Sunday. 

“Fuck, Zim!” Dib’s whole body tightens, constriction of muscles only making the stabbing worse as he instinctively yanks on the metal loops binding his arms down. “Lidocaine, bupivacaine, what have I f-fucking told you about local anesthetics?” 

Zim flaps his hand at Dib mockingly, mouth open and tongue lolling as he unhurriedly walks back to the observation and control panel nearby. He clambers onto the accompanying seat, observes the panel for a moment, finger tracking along one side, but then rethinking and moving to another, all while Dib glares, certain he’s grinding his teeth into dust. 

“Zim!” 

“What?” He selects a portion he absolutely passed over at least three times. “I was getting to it. Do you have so little faith in _Zim?_ ” 

“Yes!” Dib snaps, muscles contracting again as the sting of a second needle pinches into him, accompanied by the fiery sensation of the anesthetic being released into his back. Tears well into his eyes as he tries to force himself to breathe, pissed knowing Zim is recording this whole ordeal and will show it to him a week from now when he lets his guard down. 

He can’t wait to be forced to look at how dumb his face is. 

Dib relaxes as the foreign numbness begins to abate the all-encompassing pain of the probe. While the pressure is still present, and the subconscious recognition of a foreign object rammed into his spine has him anxious at best, Dib can almost relax now into the barely padded surface of the examination chair. He lets out the breath he’d been holding, opening his eyes again to the blinding light above, blinking as he settles back into his position. 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, which in itself was not a weird happenstance; GIR had an amazing ability to coerce him into staying longer than intended, usually by means of free food and movies. When you’re a broke college kid who’s estranged yourself from your rich dad and you live on ramen and frozen meals, shitty free tacos are still free tacos. He’d taken GIR’s offer, and then sat down to watch some movie the robot had rented and must’ve passed out at some point. 

And, once again, he’s ended up here, shirtless, strapped to a mechanical observation chair, having his organs or whatever examined. Dib tests the metal cuffs keeping his wrists in place again, knowing they’re tight and secure, and that even his best efforts couldn’t help him escape-

Dib grits his teeth at the zing of heat that flashes in his gut as he flexes his fingers. The room is quiet, save for the whirr of whatever machine the probe is hooked up to and Zim’s random hemming and hawing so it's easy for a mind to wander into territory he wanted to remain uncharted. He shifts his legs, pushing back against the thought of Zim being larger, over him, pushing him back into the seat, claws raking down his chest-

Fuck, he can't get hard like this. Again.

Desperate for a distraction, he fixes on Zim; tiny, normal sized Zim who is still seated by the panel and no longer interested in Dib now that he’s stopped squirming. He mutters to himself, tick-tick-ticking away on the touchscreen with the utmost concentration, stopping only every now and then to scratch at his flaking exterior. Dib watches him for a bit, focusing back on reality to quell the growing…’interest’ he’s experiencing. When it doesn't immediately work, he tries for another tactic.

“Why didn’t you give me anything in the first place?” He asks, his mouth like cotton. It's uncomfortable to talk, but he needs to break the quiet. 

“Stupid stupid Dib.” Zim answers, not looking up. “Your inferior body clearly didn't need any since you stayed asleep this whole time.”

“You could’ve still given me the anesthetics.” That gets Zim to look up, eyes narrowed and antennae forward, thank fuck. There's no better moodkiller than a small green alien going on an unnecessarily loud rant. 

“And WASTE a good opportunity by risking you waking up?” He’s being pointed at again. “The Dib never sleeps through the anesthesia. DO YOU THINK ZIM IS STUPID?” Dib sighs, and glances up at the cluttered wiry ceiling, pretending to think about it.

“Some-”

“I DIDN’T ASK FOR AN ANSWER.” Dib chuckles and Zim frowns, settling back down. “Eh, besides, you slept for 10 hours. Your _weak_ flesh body must have needed it.” The alien cackles to himself, gleeful in his perceived superiority.

“As opposed to my not flesh body?” 

“ _Precisely!”_

“Alright.” Dib chews at his lip, the gnawing concern of why he was even cuffed to the chair in the first place becoming more and more apparent. Asking won’t get him an answer though; Zim’s in a mood. “Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for.” 

“Eh?” Zim just stares at him, tongue sticking out in bemusement. “Y-yes! A fact your insignificant brain matter will never find out!”

“Okay.” Dib shrugs, settling his head back to close his eyes in indifference. He can almost hear the gears grinding in Zim’s head.

A moment of silence and then-

“ _Pitiful_ human!” Zim begins, now standing on his seat. “As unconcerned about this extended IRRITATING molt as I am, Zim grows tired of the constant ITCHING.” Works every time.

“So you strapped _me_ to the chair? Again?” Zim extends his metallic spider legs, clacking across the metal floor to loom over Dib with a leering grin. Dib swallows thickly as Zim lowers himself closer to Dib’s face. 

“ _Yes. Ingenious, isn’t it?”_ Zim whispers, letting his boots land onto Dib’s bare chest. He weighs almost nothing, but Dib’s lungs feel like they are on the verge of collapse all the same. A claw pokes him in the forehead again, though Dib barely has the capacity to care as that low thrum of heat flares into a supernova. It's hard to think when Zim has him like this. “Something on this _revolting_ dirt ball is making me miserable. If I want to find out why Zim is molting, you’re sticky fluids might tell me just that.” 

The claw traces down his face to under his chin, tilting his face up so he's forced to meet Zim's gaze. 

"Now be a good test worm, Dib."

Does he know?

Of course he does; they talked about it, ages ago when Dib was 15 and a chase and subsequent wrestle turned awkward. And then talked about it again during a hi-skool dance when Zim got a little too close when they had to hide from some hellspawn he’d unleashed on the event. And then again the first time Dib woke up like this after he stopped talking to his dad. Honestly, it's a conversation that happens at least once a year and even Zim’s poor memory can’t excuse him NOT knowing. 

Dib doesn’t know if it’s Zim or just the situations Zim tends to put him in, but he’s got a problem that tends to crop up when he’s boxed in, held down, strapped to a table..and, honestly? Its fucking inconvenient when the one doing all of that is an alien half his size who doesn’t seem to comprehend what it’s doing to Dib.

He doesn't understand, though, the complexities of human emotion, of human ‘response’, right? He can’t, not completely. He doesn’t feel that sort of shit, those particular particular urges. Irkens don’t have reproductive organs, have no use for them given how their society works; Zim’s told him as much and Dib’s seen him naked a handful of times, so there’s no way he _gets it_. Not the miasma of tangled emotional and humiliating bullshit it leaves Dib with, not how it keeps him up at night when he really needs rest for classes and work, not the hollow dread he gets every time Zim puts him in this kind of position for worry he might get hot and bothered at a concept he refuses to understand about himself-

“The Dib-stink is...affected again?” Zim is blinking owlishly at him, more curious than outright malicious as before. Dib hadn’t realized he’d been trembling so much, hands gripping the armrests until his knuckles are white as a sheet and legs bent at the knee, firmly pressed together. All it takes is some cuffs, a general sense of helplessness, and an alien looming over him, and Dib’s a fucking puddle on the chair. 

“No, I’m great, Zim.” Dib lies, but Zim shakes his head and steps away, the mechanical clicking of his extra legs thundering in the quiet room. Dib finally lets out the breath he’s been holding once again, thanking every god he has no belief in he can name at that moment. 

“Fool!” Zim shouts, pointing at the observation panel. “Your uncontrollable _urges_ are ruining the samples! Why must you do this to _Zim_?” 

“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose.” Dib mutters, tensing as he feels the pressure of the probe slide out of him. That'll leave a bruise tomorrow.

“What?!” The bindings on his arms open.

“Nothing, Zim!” He struggles to swing his legs around, the heat from earlier ebbing away and leaving him raw, flayed open like a frog for dissection. His legs are jelly yet taut, buzzing, and Dib wonders how long Zim had him sitting there before he had woken up. He groans, rubs both hands over his face, willing the tightness in his jeans to calm down until he can waddle his way back home. 

It's going to be a long bus ride, one where he hopes he doesn't have nosy grandmas glaring at him disapprovingly. He starts to plan out his route, waiting for the confidence to try walking to come back to him and sighs. He can't go home immediately; he's supposed to meet Gaz today. What time even is it?

He goes to grab his phone from his pocket, but something stops him. 

A new sensation has started, rhythmic where the epicenter of the numbness lays, and Dib mildly stunned when he sees Zim over his shoulder. He must have snuck up on him, standing behind Dib and rubbing what smelled to be a fast acting healing agent. Now, he kinda wished he hadn’t asked for the anesthetics. 

Zim catches him staring, swiftly looking away.

“Quiet, Dib.” Dib scrunches his nose, both at Zim’s accusation and the harsh burning smell of the gel. 

“I didn’t-”

“You were! I could _feel it_ ; your icky… projecting… word… thoughts...” He finishes rubbing in the healing agent, and then proceeds to wipe the remainder onto Dib’s discarded shirt. “Zim is merely cutting off your noisy complaining when you regain feeling in your insignificant back. I have no NEED for your **complaining**!” He tosses the shirt at Dib’s face, who catches it before it splats on his nose.

“Thanks, I guess.” 

“Yes, yes,” Zim twirls his hand around in the air as he walks away, self-aggrandizing, “I am glorious in all ways now GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.” With a press of a button, a massive claw descends rapidly from the ceiling, grabbing Dib and shooting him screaming upward through the bowels of the base before he is deposited unceremoniously onto the front lawn. 

Its bright, the sun somewhere around noon. The grass beneath his bare back is sharp and scratchy at best, yet Dib lays there for a few moments to collect himself, exhausted, shirtless, aroused, and confused. A fly buzzes near his ear, he swats at it. His phone beeps, he tells Gaz he’ll be late to their lunch plans. A little robot in a dog costume screams goodbye at him as he puts his shirt on, he waves farewell and heads towards the bus stop in complete resignation.

You know, just another slightly abnormal Sunday. 

* * *

_Log...DOESN'T MATTER. These number themselves in the Computer anyways._

_Attempting to find answers in the Dib-worm’s hormones was a FAILURE. A waste of my_ **_precious time._ ** _This molt eludes me, TEASES ME. You will not mock ZIM for long, carapace!_

_I WILL NOT ALLOW IT._

_Dib was of course no help; he never is but he provides an easy subject for my_ **_ingenious ideas_ ** _. And he never minds. He makes HORRIBLE NOISES if I don’t give him anything for his under evolved pain receptors, but then he quiets down like a good test beast. The most useful one by far in that he comes to ME without question. He-_

_...hmm._

_Sometimes-_

_Today, the Dib found it…_

_Humans and they’re filthy… reproductive...NEEDS. How_ **_awful it must be_ ** _, to need to touch...organs. Dib is like this sometimes. Of COURSE he is. The Dib is a healthy functioning adult but it gets in my_ **_way_ ** _. DISTRACTS from my goals. He gets testy and_ **_weird_ ** _. Doesn’t want Zim to touch or be near him._

 _PUNY HUMAN. So WEAK in his URGES. ZIM has no time for such pathetic_ **_things_ ** _. Irkens have no need for reproduction. Oh to be so underdeveloped to need biological help to continue a species._

_HILARIOUS._

_Dib gets… pink_ _when he’s… like...that **evenmoresothanusual**. It’s- _

_Hmm._

_The first time had been just a few short Earth years after I was assigned to this smelly place, as Dib became more tall and... stuff. He IGNORED ME._

**_FOR DAYS AFTERWARD. No one ignores ZIM._ **

_The second time was boring. Zim forgets. Doesn’t matter. Dib blames Zim for the whole affair. With no **EVIDENCE**. _

_The third was more...vexing. Dib had been asleep under observation when his useless chest...things distracted me. I was already testing his_ **_horrible_ ** _body’s reactions to various stimuli when under such_ **_delicious_ ** _mental duress. The opportunity was right there, for the taking..._

 _He made new sounds when I touched one. Just a small touch. What strange little...noises. And he_ **_wiggled_ ** _, still asleep. I-_

 _It was FRUSTRATING. Dib was soft and his mouth flapping had been_ **_enjoyable_ ** _despite his usual grating talking. It made me, ZIM, feel... strange… empty. Like I should be responding but something in me..._ **_doesn’t._ **

_It is as if something is missing. Something is supposed to be there. Like I’m missing some part. Which is IMPOSSIBLE. Irkens are made for PERFECTION and_ **_I am no different._ **

_WHO does the Dib… dirt… SMELL think he is, making_ **_Zim_ ** _feel.._ **_THINGS?_ **

_Today was similar. Dib was in his_ **_mood_ ** _and **squirmy** and I could have… I _ **_wanted to…_ **

_FORGET THIS. Computer! Delete this log immediately and refill my goo ba-_

* * *

It’s late. Later than he should be awake. Dib lies on his cheap twin mattress sat directly on the floor, still damp from a lukewarm shower, still buzzed from one the least enjoyable jerk off sessions in his short life. He spent a third of the time trying not to think about anything, and then another portion just trying not the think about Zim, and then he came doing exactly that-

Dib rolls over onto his side, staring out into his dark room, too tired to get up and do anything but too irritated to fall asleep. He’s always struggled with this, these ideas of Zim in ways that he simply isn’t. Usually taller, more human sized, though not always, but certainly actually having reproductive organs and a sex drive which could be directed at Dib. Dib’s not ashamed or anything of these kinds of fantasies, they’re just fantasies, but-

Zim’s not a _person_ . The alien’s a person, sure, he’s sentient and has thoughts and maybe feelings, but he’s not a _person_ person. He can’t relate to this kind of thing, probably doesn’t even understand it, not like a _person_ could and thinking about him, jacking off to an idealized version of him seems intrusive...wrong, even. He never feels good afterwards, and sometimes he even feels like he needs to apologize for it.

Alright, so, he’s _kind of_ ashamed of the fantasies; get off his back. It was easier as a horny teenager with 0 morals instead of a horny adult with precisely _two_ morals and that fact, that he’s been doing precisely this for that long, has him hitting his head against his misshapen pillow. When did he start caring how much his actions affected Zim, a being who spent the better half of the day quite literally stabbing Dib in the back and the better part of their decade knowing each other literally trying to kill him?

Their friend-enemy-ship or whatever is fine the way it is, and he doesn't need to go fucking it up by being a horny loner.

His phone beeps at him, and it takes him a good two minutes of his general irritation being redirected at himself for leaving his text sound on before he looks at the screen. 

_From: Space Boy_

_ZIM IS A GENIUS_

_I HAVE FOUND THE SOURCE OF MY MOLTING_

_YOUR FUTURE OVERLORD HAS GROWN_

Well.

Shit. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: descriptions of potentially nasty anatomical reactions, forced what could be surmised as first aid, and just generally boys gettin’ hurt.

“Yeah, no, I’m doing fine, Gaz.” 

“Is that why all of your clothes are like five times your size?” Dib is glad his sister isn’t nearby to see the range of expressions his face went through. He shifts the phone between his ear and his shoulder, unlocking his apartment door and stepping inside, grocery bags and mail in hand. 

“So I lost a little weight-”

“I could blow you over if I breathed too hard.” Dib sets the groceries onto his dubiously clean counter, checking the microwave clock for the time. He’s got a shift in about two hours he still has to get ready for. “I know I’ve asked before, but do you, like, eat outside of when we meet up?” 

Dib pauses putting away a bag of tortilla chips and cups of noodles. 

“Yeah, absolutely.” He can almost hear her rolling her eyes. 

“I’m gunna beat your ass if you keep making me worry about you.” His phone beeps. “You ask for money you-” Its Zim in all caps and 80% gibberish. Something about hormones and Irken supremacy and how he can't use his computer for a few days which is, in his words, BORING.

“Yeah, sure.” He puts Gaz on speaker, typing out a quick response about his work schedule. He doesn’t tell Zim specifically not to come over, because then he will, but he does strongly imply that there won’t be reason for the alien to sneak into his apartment while Dib is out. 

“Are you texting Zim?” 

“Yeah, he’s complaining about some shit.” Gaz tsks, and Dib shifts at the flare of guilt that settles low in his gut. Gaz had a few choice words when she figured out why Dib was so fucking exhausted the last time they met up after Zim shoved a probe into his spine.

“Why do you still talk to him?” That’s a great fucking question. He doesn’t answer, and Gaz sighs, making that guilt twist even deeper. They’ve had this conversation a thousand times already and it always ends the same. She lets out an irritated sigh. “Just… be careful, Dib. Even if you go off into space, I’ll find you and drag you back if you do something stupid.” 

“Thanks, Gaz.”

They say their goodbyes, Gaz mentioning something about dragging him out to some ‘nerd mothman shit’ to get him some real friends and Dib awkwardly agreeing, knowing he’ll weasel his way out of it. He taps the phone to his forehead after he hangs up in frustration. He knows she means well, and, yeah, he could do with some actual friends who aren't green and not of this Earth, but he’s got a plan. 

Zim can’t stay on Earth forever. He’s too volatile, too easily bored with things, especially if he has nothing tying him down. With the banishment and nothing keeping him chained to Earth anymore, he’s bound to get fed up and leave for somewhere better. Dib’s sticking with college for the time being, learning as much as he can about space and physics so he isn’t completely fucking useless and then he’s hitching a ride, even if he has to sneak on board. 

He just has to be patient.

He moves to his shitty card table of a desk, mail in hand as he starts to sort through the various envelopes. He rarely gets anything interesting, as to be expected. Bills, junk, junk, a political campaign, a PSA for a church-

A letter. Familiar envelope, Membrane Labs return address, sloppily written return address. It's not the first time Dib has received a letter from his ‘dad’ and as he opens it with a finger, tearing the seal smoothly, he’s not shocked by its contents: 

A single check addressed to Dib Membrane, dated three days ago, for 500 dollars. The check itself is pristine, vaguely blue, with an intentionally blank memo line. 

When he was 18, and had his first apartment after couch surfing at Zim’s for almost a year, Membrane sent him a check. And then the month after. And then the month after. 33 checks, sloppy handwriting, no memo, no letter, 500 dollars. Dib isn’t even sure if his dad knows if the checks have been cashed or not, if he bothers to look at his bank statements or asks his accountant after them. In the long run, it doesn’t matter. He still sends them. 

The first five or so times, Dib had spent a long time staring at them. Each time, he’d opened the letter, pulled out the check and just sat there, thinking. Five hundred was two weeks pay. Five hundred was rent. Five hundred was _actual_ food for months. He didn’t expect money to be so tight once he wasn’t under his father’s house anymore, having been raised with whatever he needed plus a generous allowance that allowed him to fight aliens, but reality hit him in the face pretty hard and five hundred unworked dollars would help immensely. 

But then again, he hadn’t expected to learn he didn’t actually have a dad and that he wasn’t even his own fucking person.

It's not difficult anymore to pull out the permanent marker from his bag, write ‘void’ in the largest obnoxious letters he can across the check and drop it into his desk drawer with the other 32 that he’s accumulated over the past three years. He closes the drawer, heads to the kitchen to eat something quick before heading out, and resolutely decides not to dwell on it. 

Fuck, he just needs Zim to get tired of this fucking planet and leave, because Dib sure as hell is.

* * *

 _By Earthen metrics, I have gained 6 inches and there is no sign of stopping. Astounding. Impossible. Of course ZIM defies the notions of_ **_Irken biology_ ** _! To think any would be foolish enough to doubt him._

 _If this continues, I could become the Tallest. What an idea. Once seen so lowly as tiny Zim, I could usurp Red and Purple, reinstate myself among Irk,_ **_control Irk-_ **

_No. The control brains. They would never allow it. They ousted me. ME. All because one of them imploded and they point the finger at ZIM? Even if I were responsible, what does it matter? There’s dozen of Control Brains! Every Irken conquered planet that_ **_matters_ ** _has one instated._

 _They can make more. DOZENS. HUNDREDS. Why must_ **_Zim_ ** _suffer if one dies?_

**_They will rue the day they did this to me. ME._ **

_Regardless, even though I am growing at an exponential rate, I have avoided looking at myself in the mirror. This HIDEOUS MOLTING disturbs me still and to see Zim so weak and futile…_

_I HATE IT. Once my bones and back stop_ **_hurting_ ** _and my… SKIN stops... **flaking** , then I shall gaze long into what I have become. _

**_Yes. Nothing shall stop the Zim._ **

_In an effort to find out why my_ **_perfect_ ** _form has started undergoing this change for the better, I have set the Computer to put all efforts into hacking its way back into the Irken frequencies. I have long been putting this off for_ **_good reason._ ** _I WAS BUSY._

 **_Things_ ** _have been distracting me. Many important tasks that needed to be done have been...dealt... with. Yes. Many, many important things that I have no need to go into detail over._

_Very. Important. **DO NOT QUESTION ME.** _

_“You spent 40 days rocking back and forth in a toilet back in March.”_

_SILENCE. How dare you_ **_betray Zim like this, COMPUTER?_ **

**_DON’T YOU HAVE THINGS THAT NEED DOING?_ **

_"I guess."_

_Anyways, as the Computer works to find a backdoor, I have little to do but wait and_ **_itch_ ** _. Unfortunately, GIR is out at his book club meeting, and so I have little to distract me from the DEAFENING. SILENCE. Of the base._

_I shall have to be patient._   
  


* * *

_I grow tired of waiting. Perhaps the Dib-worm can alleviate some of my IMMENSE boredom. He is always excited to see Zim. And why_ **_wouldn’t he be?_ **

**_I am amazing._ **   
  


* * *

Dib can hardly believe it. Zim's grown half a foot in a single month. It's hard to believe, after so long of him just being a tiny alien man to constantly hitting a new height every time Dib turns around. Dib's not really sure how he feels about it, especially since Zim is not showing any signs of stopping, either in the growth or the bitching. 

“ _My bones._ ” Dib rolls his eyes for what seems like the hundredth time that night as he once again pauses his typing to pay mind to the pitiful lump on his bed. He’s been like that, laid out and whining ever since Dib snatched his tortilla chips back from Zim’s clutches. “Torturous. STUPID. Bones…”

Despite the soft warning that Dib had nothing for him to do, Zim broke in sometime during his work shift, which was a regular enough occurrence that Dib’s upstairs neighbor waited for him to come home in order to inform him.

“Hey,” Dib had looked up the stairwell, pulling a headphone from one ear as he locked eyes with the neighbor chick from the apartment above his, leaning casually on the landing’s guard rail. “I think your friend might’ve broken in again.”

She’s got a suspicious look about her at all times, narrow gaze always stuck somewhere between pissed and apathetic, and has an accent from somewhere Dib can't place. They’ve talked a few times in passing along the stairs, and he knows she’s breaking her lease with a cat, but they have an agreement: She doesn’t call the cops on Zim, and he doesn’t mention the weird noises her cat makes. It works out pretty well. 

When he finally opened his door, it was to Zim, lounging on his threadbare couch, munching on the chips Dib just bought and cackling at videos of car crashes on Dib’s laptop. The moment the alien noticed him, he started screeching about ‘why are you here, worm?’ and then a short tussle ensued to get him to shut it before someone called the police on them.

“Don’t Irkens have painkillers or something?” Most conventional human medications can range from anywhere between ineffective to downright poisonous for him, but you’d think an advanced military race who would want their soldiers feeling as little as possible in order to conquer more would have some form of ibuprofen. 

“IDIOT. HUMAN.” Zim sits up, snarling. “Is your **head** so **empty** you did not think Zim would have indulged in them by now?” 

“So you ran out?” 

“Wouldn’t **you** like to know, Dib?” That was a yes. 

Dib turns back to his essay, resigning himself to an evening of frequent interruptions and distracted work, but he’s gotten good enough at bullshitting these weekly write-ups that he knows his forgiving astronomy professor will at the very least give him a solid B. It's not all bad when Zim is here during homework; considering he’s taking courses for Astrophysics, and Zim’s gleaned enough background radiation knowledge on space from whatever has been going on in his life, he tends to be more useful than not. 

Dib just has to bribe Zim with whatever high carb snack food he’s into at the moment, put up with his standoffish antagonism and petty insults, translate whatever he refers to certain concepts as into what Dib’s professors refer to them as, and Dib ends up only mildly understanding more that most of his fellow classmates. It's completely worth it. 

After a few minutes of his general Zim noises being ignored, Dib hears another video being started on his smartphone, and soon his apartment is filled with the always relaxing noise of tires screeching and Zim’s sadistic laughter. As far as background noise goes, it’s not the worst, and soon Dib is entirely focused on his typing. Sure, historically it’s not the best idea to turn your back and attention away from the volatile-at-best Zim, but Dib’s never made the best decisions in his life. 

To be fair, the worst Zim has done in a while, when Dib is conscious, is either throw things at him or sit on him. Since the only thing that could feasibly hurt is the phone in Zim's hand, Dib isn't exactly in any danger. Even with him being a bit longer now, Dib still outweighs and out strengths him with ease.

He starts getting that burning ‘a weird alien is watching you’ sensation in the back of his neck around 9:30pm. Dib, stupidly chooses to ignore it, bracing for the impact of a smartphone to the back of his skull at any moment. Imagine his shock when gloved knuckles run purposefully down the middle of his neck instead. 

Dib freezes, white knuckling his laptop in an effort to keep it from free-falling to the floor and to ground himself against the sensation. Zim’s hand spreads out at the base of his neck, letting his clawed fingertips loosely grip either side, whether in warning or curious affection Dib wasn’t sure. What Dib was certain about was the rapidly increasing staccato of his heartbeat and how every minute shift of the sharp points digging all but leisurely into his skin sent a mind-numbing thrill slithering down his spine.

He opens his mouth, but the words dry up on his tongue, and he swallows thickly before trying again.

“Zim?” 

“Why does the Dib let me do this?” His voice is oddly quiet, barely a murmur, but it's so close to Dib ear, it might as well have been shouted at him for how it rings in his head. Dib licks his lips, breath catching as a thumb rubs circles at the nape of his neck. 

“Do… what?” Let him into his apartment? He doesn’t have much of a choice; Zim just shows up. If he locked the window, the alien would break it. Let Zim touch him? He also doesn't... alright, he does have a choice in that, but he doesn't really have an answer as to why he lets the alien get so close. 

Or, at least, not one he's willing to admit.

“Stupid, trusting Dib.” Zim sighs, resting his head on Dib’s shoulder as his claws creep round to trace the front of Dib’s neck, as if he’s gauging a reaction. As if he’s seeing how far Dib will let him go.

Dib has had some wires crossed because instead of shying away from the sharp points pressing into his pulse, he lifts his chin inviting a sneer from Zim. The digits round his throat tighten, the pressure exerting to a point where Dib can’t tell if they’ve pierced his skin or not, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t suck in a quivering breath.

“Zim could end your pitiful existence right now, and the Dib would just let me.” Zim’s facing him now, antennae fluttering across his cheek, eyes locked onto his face to judge his reaction. He’s thankful Zim hasn’t cottoned on to what this is doing to him, otherwise the alien would’ve let go, would’ve stepped away yelling about 'inferior meat needs'. 

It’s how Dib knows he’s wrong. Zim stopped pushing things too far when Dib stopped chasing after him four years ago. Sure he’ll fuck around with needles and wires, sure he’ll threaten Dib with in an inch of his life, sure he’ll dangle something sharp above Dib’s eye just to see him sweat, but the moment it goes from, in Zim’s mind, playful dominating to an actual threat to Dib’s well-being, he backs off. The sharp objects disappear, the needles get taken out, the threats die down to an angry grumble.

And Dib can trust that, Dib can let the little power-hungry psychopath into his apartment, can fall asleep with him in the room or at his base, can have him shove a probe into his back while he’s unconscious. So, even though Zim is starting to squeeze his esophagus, all but telling Dib he’s prepared to rip his throat out just to prove he can, Dib is certain the alien won’t if he so much as breathes wrong. 

Which leaves him free to _revel_ in it until Zim figures out exactly how much he’s enjoying it. 

Zim pushes his neck back further into the couch cushion, claws digging in as Dib bite’s his lip to stop making any audible indicators of his current chaotic mindset. He finally steals a glance at Zim’s face, taken aback by how close he is and the concentration folded in his gaze. As his knees spread ever so slightly at the mechanical sound of the PAK legs activating, Dib could swear there was a kind of hunger in those eyes...

Zim yelps, scraping Dib’s neck as he collapses to the ground with a thunk.Stunned, as if on autopilot, Dib is on his feet, all but vaulting over the couch to see the alien curled in on himself, PAK legs partially deployed and twitching as he trembles, wide eyed in shock on the floor. He's so small, despite all his posturing, and even with the growth, he is a fragile looking thing among the dirty clothes and papers strewn about Dib's apartment.

“Shit.” Dib falls beside him on his knees, hands hovering just over Zim’s form in hesitation, any previous sense of confused arousal gone in the wake of dread at what could be happening to Zim. If something's wrong with the PAK, Zim could die within minutes. He got to do something to fix it.

“Hey-” Zim doesn’t even flinch when he places a hand on his side, too busy making little pained noises at every involuntary movement of his auxiliary legs. His PAK is blaring a harsh red, giving off an immeasurable heat as it makes a strange rhythmic clicking noise. Upon closer inspection, he can see the legs attempting to re-withdraw, but something has them stuck. “Can you put your legs back in?” 

“I-...I-” He’s immobile, not even blinking, his antennae strapped to the top of his head. Steeling himself, Dib gingerly turns him onto his front, not pausing even when Zim shrieks in pain and the PAK legs start to flail. One catches Dib on the cheek, slicing it open with ease, but Dib barely registers it even as blood begins to seep down his face.

"Jesus, hold still!" Dib grabs hold of one of the legs, and at that, Zim cries out again, beginning to attempt to crawl away from him, but doesn’t get far when Dib pins him with a hand just above his PAK. He grips the flailing limp harder, its surface smooth and cold to his touch, and he pushes it back as gently yet forcefully as he can, trying to shut out the strange distressed chittering Zim has begun making.

Much to his shock, the leg slides back into its home with ease, and even as the others nick and cut at his clothes, once the leg is completely sheathed, the hole automatically closes. Diligently, Dib works, the next moments becoming a trial of shoving the legs back into the PAK, each one giving its own form of resistance. The last one fights the hardest, stabbing Dib’s hand repeatedly as he tries to hold it in, hand covering the hole and all but begging for Zim to close it. 

It does, finally, the little covering sliding shit, and Dib takes his hand away leaving a wet red smear over the PAKs smooth surface. He watches, listening to whirring and clanking coming from within the PAK, hoping that he was quick enough to fix whatever had happened and trying not the picture the withered husk Zim had become the last time his lifeline had gotten damaged. 

"Come on, come on." He mumbles, seconds passing sluggishly by as the red warning light begins to dim and dim. Finally, it goes silent, the PAK reading a neutral status and its labored machinations having stopped entirely. Dib can breathe again. 

Zim relaxes, going boneless onto the floor. Dib falls back onto his ass, aware of the dead silence in his apartment now that Zim has stopped chittering and PAK has stopped clicking. He glances over at where Zim lays, still and panting, seeming even more tiny without the auxiliary legs waving about. He lays a hand on Zim’s shoulder, taking it back immediately when the alien gives a full body twitch.

“Are you-” Zim pushes himself up onto his elbows, glaring at Dib from over his shoulder. He's pale, maroon eyes glittering with rage and pain, mouth quirk to show his square teeth gritted angrily.

“Not a word, **Dib**.” Zim gets gingerly to his feet, tearing his top off and stumbling to the full length mirror in Dib’s bathroom. His back is a mess of patchy dry spots that flake off with the slightest movement, and some strange wetness Dib can't tell the origin from. Zim twists and cranes his neck, as though trying to catch the correct angle to observe him thin triangular backside before he freezes, mouth agape and antennae dropping to the sides of his face.

The PAK is bulging, no longer flush with Zim’s back, but eskew and clinging to a swollen lump that has formed underneath it. The lump, swollen to half an inch and covering a good 60% of its surface, is mottled green, clearly inflamed and painful. A clear fluid leaks out of a small rupture, having been spread across Zim’s surface during the scuffle in a shiny wet patch that Zim touches with a shaking hand.

From there, to both their horrified astonishment, Dib watches Zim reach back, eyes locked on the mirror's surface as he gingerly prods at the congealing origin of the rupture. There, as his claw pokes at the swelling, something inside shifts, away from his touch and Zim hisses, back bowing as that something presses against the stretched surface. 

Angular. 

Long. 

Thin. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: VIOLENCE and needles.

_Something is growing on me._

_I was just with the Dib at his abysmal_ **_home_ ** _when something disrupted my PAK’s connection. Upon attempting to use my auxiliary legs, a terrible pressure began and dislodged something back there and the legs became stuck, unable to deploy. I was frozen, certain to perish on the spot._

_This wouldn’t have happened if HE-_

_IF_ **_I-_ **

_Something else is happening to me. Along with a new_ **_pain_ ** _in my lower abdomen, I have these…._ **_thoughts. Intrusive. AWFUL. Thoughts._ ** _I want to... hurt him, not like before where Zim only dreamed of him DEAD but in the ways he reacts...to..._

 _I wants to show him how_ **_easy he makes it… to touch-_ **

_He lets me_ **_do things_ ** _that..._ **_affect_ ** _him.. And increasingly I’ve thought about it...want-_

_NO! Zim does not WANT these things. It is the growths, this...MUTATION messing with Zim’s head!_

_IGNORE ALL THAT._ **_Where was I?_ **

_Right, the incident. Thankfully DIB, in all his whining and EMOTIONS was able to push the legs back in, and the pressure released allowing the PAK to reconnect. I had to vacate back to my base. I could not let that… HUMAN see me in such a_ **_vulnerable state._ **

_I have since tried to use basic functionality and tools from the PAK but to no avail._

_THEY ALL STICK. No tools, no legs, no_ **_weapons_ ** _. Zim is left with NOTHING but the itching and the swelling and the_ **_pain_ ** _and whatever is back there_ **_twitches. Oh, what horrible twitching. Why must it twitch so bad?_ **

_I can FEEL IT. MOVING. PULSING._ **_GROWING._ **

_I would examined it further, but GIR-_

_THAT CURSED. ROBOT._

_Has dismantled most of my specialized scanning equipment for various household machines, least of which a smoothie maker. I need those machines to properly see what is happening under the PAK without disrupting its functionality. I thought I could get away with mere sight and touch but every touch HURTS. And new THINGS keep HAPPENING._

_Not only do I_ **_molt_ ** _nonstop and my very bones ache and crack with every. Single. STEP. And now this THING dares to grow on Zim’s back, disrupt my PAK, MY LIVING...NESS_ **_?_ **

_I CAN’T STAND IT._

_I can’t take off the PAK to see what lies underneath in case I risk not being able to reattach it. I cannot risk doing any further damage until I am sure of what is exactly happening._

_I need blueprints. I need more_ **_parts_ ** _. But where can I find such specialized equipment? The Control Brains will not_ **_let me_ ** _order more machines. The Tallest do not answer my calls. Without them, without the Irken_ **_connections,_ ** _I have no contacts, no one to demand equipment from._

 _Zim is stranded. Alone. No one to help poor_ **_Zim-_ **

_“Don’t you have a bunch of spare equipment in your space station?”_

_COMPUTER. What have I told you about interrupting these_ **_highly important_ ** _logs?_

_“But you-”_

_ENOUGH._

_Now where was I? Ah, yes, the space station. The station? THE STATION!_

_It was shot down during the INCIDENT that led to my exile. But all important equipment would have been jettisoned somewhere around this filthy place in the black box, including the backup medical equipment._

_ZIM IS A GENIUS._

_I will need to locate it, which will take time but that could hold what I need to truly see what is disrupting my PAK and what keeps TWITCHING back there. Then I can remove it and be done with these_ **_thoughts_ ** _and then focus on getting back into the databases to fix my other growths._

_Nothing shall stand in my way. All will fear me!_

**_ZIM_ **

* * *

Zim hasn’t answered his fucking phone in three days. He’s also stolen Dib’s favorite hoodie, but that's not important right now. 

After what happened that night, Zim had bolted in a hurry, gone from Dib’s apartment in a flash, leaving him confused and bleeding next to his couch. Dib had tried to text him immediately, and when there was no response after he cleaned and bandaged his hand, he called the alien. GIR had picked up, yelled something about a take-out box, and hung up. 

Not unusual, but not helpful either. 

He tried again the next day, and the next, growing more and more agitated with each read text that remained unanswered. He does what he can to ignore it; throws himself into his classes, fails to make meaningful conversation with coworkers when really how can he considering his life in one long string of unrelatable messes, spends a good chunk of free time trying to get his old laptop to boot back up to see if the ancient cameras he installed around Zim’s base five years ago still work. 

Needless to say, Zim’s radio silence is honestly getting to him. 

“Okay but why?” They’re at a sandwich place near the college, seated at a tiny two person table that barely fits two sorority girls, let alone Dib ‘mostly legs’ Membrane and his sister. Gaz hasn’t looked up from her phone where she is playing at least two games simultaneously, but Dib isn’t bothered. 

If Gaz weren’t on the phone, she’d be gazing off into middle distance not listening. 

“Why does it bother you when he shuts the fuck up for a bit? It’s not like this is the first time it’s happened.”

“Cause he does stupid shit when he goes quiet, Gaz.” Dib leans his forehead on his hand, propped up by his elbow, picking at the crumbs of his unfortunately gone sandwich. His other palm, bandaged and twinging at every errant breeze, lays in his lap, where he’s been careful to keep it out of Gaz’s sight. “And something’s wrong with him. I wanna make sure he’s not gunna die or something.” 

“Yeah, but why do you care? He’s a dickwad to you all the time.” She pointedly eyes the cut on his cheek. “What has he ever done for you?”

Dib wants to mention that Zim actually talked to him throughout the whole ‘estrangement from Dad’ process. Zim, however begrudgingly and with as much complaining as he could do, let Dib stay in his base for months, even though actual days prior to being asked, Dib had been actively threatening to cut him open live on camera. The moment Dib failed to show up to stop Zim from turning the oceans to taffy, the alien went to find out what was wrong, in his own weird way, while his sister stopped responding to his texts. 

Dib bites his tongue though. Gaz had been fifteen at the time and she gets understandably upset at Dib bringing up what she said for cheap arguments. They’ve patched things up; things are better now. 

“He let me sleep on his couch while I was homeless.” He points out, eyeing Gaz’s remaining quarter of a sandwich. 

“Yeah, cause he experimented on you the whole time.” She counters, shuffling her fries around uninterestedly. Someone walking past gives them a weird quirk of the brow at that and Dib gives him a little wave. 

“Not the whole time. Plus he gets me food... sometimes.” The man walks off as Gaz glares at him, setting down the fry she had been deliberating on eating or not. She leans back when they’re alone again, crossing her arms over her chest, the phone forgotten for the moment. 

“You mean his annoying robot slave does.” 

“He helps with my classes.” Dib offers after a moment with a cheesy smile. It's a weak excuse, and Gaz rolls her eyes. 

“Dib, he barely remembers you half the time.” Dib runs his hands over his face, starting to disagree but Gaz cuts him off, lowering her voice with an accusatory finger. “As far as you know, he’d drown you in a puddle if he wanted a candy bar bad enough.” Gaz’s expression lightens as if in an epiphany and then immediately darkens as her brows furrow. “Do you… _like_ him or something?” 

That has whatever snide, half-joking, mostly sad comment Dib had been planning to come back with curdling at the back of his throat. He opens his mouth, closes it again, shakes his head, looks generally like some kind of deranged fish as his sister’s lips tighten and she searches his face for answers that he frankly doesn’t have. 

Answers to a question he’s not having at a 24 hour chain sandwich restaurant with his little sister across the fucking table. Gaz gives it up, sighing at Dib’s continued silence to her question.

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business anyways.” She shoves her half eaten food toward him. “Do you want the rest of my sandwich? It takes like dog water and vomit.” 

The sandwich is actually pretty good, with no hint of bile or canine-infused liquids. 

* * *

He doesn’t _like_ Zim. Of course he fucking doesn’t. Who could _like_ an egotistical megalomaniac who spends 50% of the time trying to hurt you and the other 50% laughing at you about it? Also, what kind of question is that? What are they, in middle school again?

At best, Dib appreciates Zim. Zim is a constant, stable in the sense that he’s just always around. He’s a potential ticket off Earth if things get too bad. He doesn’t question Dib’s past or life decisions, doesn’t ask anything of him other than snacks and maybe to use Dib as a chair. He has motivations and wants that are easy to understand and even if he’s fucking annoying at the best of times, he doesn’t change, or hadn’t changed in the ten years he’s known him.

And you know...he unknowingly fulfills a few humiliating sexual fantasies that Dib will not ever admit to Gaz even at threat of death and dismemberment.

Maybe it’s these recent developments that’s got Dib in such an annoyed state. The idea of Zim changing, even just physically, is daunting, new. It’s worrying; Dib doesn’t know what’s happening to Zim, and, as far as he knows, neither does Zim. Maybe that’s why he keeps checking his messages every five minutes in hope of having merely missed an update...

Dib shoves his phone into his pocket again, inwardly groaning and kicking a loose bit of plastic into the road. It sticks to his sneaker, and he wriggles it off as discreetly as one can while kicking at nothing on the sidewalk. He’s not really sure where he’s going; vaguely wandering out of town toward the forest, free from work for the evening and too distracted to do any homework. He has half a mind to take a bus to Zim’s, but he doubts he’ll be let in the door even if he did. 

His head is buzzing, too many conflicting thoughts rolling over and over each other to no avail and his cut open hand hurts like hell. He’s worried. He shouldn’t be. He’s irritated. But again, he shouldn’t be. Gaz is right in saying Zim gives potentially less than two fucks about him, given that he’s a genetically modified soldier from an alien race with the emotional range of a wet cat, so why should Dib put in the mental labor for caring about his well-being?

“Fucking stupid.” He checks his phone again. No new messages and it’s 4p.m. He should head back, go do some homework, get ready for work and class tomorrow. Stop agonizing over a dumb alien who’s going through, for all they know, Irken puberty or something. It’ll be fine. Zim’s got tech up the ass; he can fix himself. 

But he can't get the memory out of his head, not with the stab wounds on his palm bringing it all back with every accidental twitch. Can’t stop thinking about Zim on the floor, screeching, chittering, for all Dib know’s, _dying_ . And that thing on his back _moving-_

Dib about faces, determined to go back home. He’s got to do his own thing right now while he waits for Zim to figure his own life out. Zim will come to him when he’s ready, whenever that is. Dib will just turn his phone off for the time being, focus on what he has to do right now and not on what he may never be able to do later.

Maybe he will get that old laptop working again...

“Why do you insist on doing this to _Zim_?” Dib stops dead in his tracks. No fucking way.

He turns, slowly, painfully slowly, hoping to God he just had an audio hallucination. Lo and behold, there, just across the street, standing harshly pointing and gesturing at a robot in a poorly made green dog costume, was a familiar similarly green idiot. He’s got Dib’s hoodie on, practically swimming in it, along with his poorly made, yet bafflingly effective disguise that he refuses to update.

Dib’s crossing the street before he even realizes it, determined and thankfully the streetlight is in his favor, letting him storm up to Zim before he has a chance to notice. He’s going to kill him.

“Zim!” His hand clamps down on Zim’s shoulder.

“DIB!” Zim’s contacts belay the genuine fear at seeing Dib here, in the flesh. So he had been avoiding him, the fucker. 

“Hi, Mary!” Dib ignores GIR for the moment, choosing instead to place his other hand on Zim’s free shoulder in an effort to box him in. 

“Where have you been?” Zim shoves him off and Dib lets him, but he stays near, blood boiling. “Why are you downtown?” 

“We’re getting a chalupa!” The robot helpfully answers with as much fanfare as he usually dishes out. Zim growls, pinching the bridge of...where his nose would be if he had one.

“No GIR!” Behind him, Gir starts sniffling, seconds from a meltdown, and Zim faces him, placing a finger over his mouth. “Sh, fine! Fine, after we find the…” His voice quiets, but in a stage way as Dib is certain Zim can’t whisper to save his life. “parts… we’ll get you your disgusting meat… thing.”

“Yay!” 

“Parts?” Dib scrunches his nose, immediately distracted from his emotional turmoil by whatever mystery of the week Zim has come up with. “What parts? What about you-” Zim turns on him now, finger back up at his mouth.

“Shhh! Quiet down your over-loud mouth hole, Dib!” Zim looks around, before gesturing Dib into an alley. Dib lets out a put-upon groan, but follows anyway. What else is he supposed to do?

“Nobody would even notice if you told me your secret plan on the street.” He points out when they seem sufficiently out of earshot of the old woman and her cat on the other side of the road, two blocks down. 

“I’m not worried about your dirt species overhearing my ingenious...ness. Pathetic they are in their efforts to stop me!” Dib crosses his arms, rolling his eyes.

“I’m the only one who tried to stop you, Zim.” 

“I believe we’re being followed.” The alien barrels ahead. He casts a long suspicious glare around the area where the old woman was. “I can’t have some INTERLOPER getting to my station’s blackbox before _Zim_.” Dib blinks, the synapses in his brain taking a few seconds to connect the vague dots he’s being presented.

“Wait, your _space station?”_ He finally says when he pieces it together. “The one around Earth’s orbit?”

“Yes, idiot boy! After it was shot down, all of its vital components were ejected for preservation. Which I need in order t-”

“And you’re doing this now? Why not, I don’t know, a month ago?” Zim is silent, pressing his index fingers together pensively, looking positively sheepish.

“He forgot!” GIR helpfully supplies.

“Do you think me so incompetent, GIR? No! It was merely... **Unnecessary** ! **Up until this point**!” Zim notices something, and starts panicking. He grabs Dib’s wrist, pulling him to the other end of the alley. “We need to move!”

He goes along, curious enough about Zim’s raving to let the alien string him along, and also bored enough with being an adult with a job, and classes, and rent, and debt, to slightly hope this will lead to more than just a ‘walk around downtown’. Zim seems to think so, muttering, and constantly glancing over his shoulder as GIR skips them along toward the edge of town. When Dib cranes his neck to see whatever Zim is fretting over, all there is are random passersby and litter.

He’s behind Zim, going at slow pace considering their considerable difference in stride length. With so few people on the street, Dib eyes find themselves stuck to the obscured bulge protruding from under the hoodie Zim stole. He can’t ascertain whether the PAK is distending out more or less than it was, or if anything has changed at all, but Dib can’t look away. 

He wants to ask, ask what happened, what is happening. He wants to stop Zim in his tracks, demand answers, like why the fuck are they wandering around the city when Zim’s got a thing growing out of his back and he keeps jumping up in height every week? 

He knows better though, and Dib stuffs his hands into his pockets, biting his tongue. The irritation is still there, mingling with the anxiety, but seeing Zim upright and moving just fine has eased it a bit. Zim will tell him eventually, or accidentally. If he hasn’t blabbed yet, then he probably knows nothing more than Dib does. Dib just has to wait. 

“So, why are we walking out of town?” Dib asks after a few minutes of following the steady march of Zim’s boots. The old lady is gone now, probably going to dinner. “It’s still like another 40 minutes before we get anywhere.” 

“And take your sticky...FILTHY public transport? With the rest of you dirt-beasts?” It’s...weird walking beside Zim again, in the quiet parts of the city. He hasn’t really seen the alien in his disguise in over a year now, and he hasn’t gone anywhere with him in just as long. 

There was a time when every moment together was spent doggedly playing cat and mouse, constantly trying to one up, thwart, and kill one another. Fifteen year old Dib would’ve called you crazy if you suggested he could be civil with Zim. Zim the unfeeling alien hellbent on ‘conquering Earth’, always trying and always failing, with Dib right in step with him. The idea of just talking, of just hanging out without an ulterior motive was madness.

Things change. Dib left home, had to start worrying about his livelihood and couldn’t keep up the fight with Zim with the gadgetry his father had afforded him. He doesn’t know if it’s because Zim just got tired of the same routine or if the narcissist just couldn’t do the thatrics without his audience anymore, but Zim just... stopped.

No more plans. No more schemes. No more loud diatribes about the whole of Earth from atop a hill for all the city to ignore him. There was no slow de-escalation either, just one night, he’s got a death ray pointed at Earth’s core, and the next he’s sitting on the couch next to Dib, awkwardly watching daytime television while the teenager had contemplated how his whole life was falling apart. 

But, sometimes Zim gets paranoid. Dib could only assume after years of not hearing much from the Tallest got him antsy and, like most things with the Irken, he’d gone from zero to nearly nuking the entire planet in just a couple of days. Dib had barely any time to respond, let alone stop him, but thanks to Zim’s own grandiose ego and incompetence, the plan had backfired. He took out one block and nuked an entirely different planet.

“GIR traded your subway ticket for keychain dongles again, didn’t he?” The alien halts to point threateningly and Dib nearly trips over him, so lost in his own head.

“It is NONE of your _concern,_ **_human_ ** _!”_

GIR pads over to Dib, taking his short leash that Zim had dropped in his gesticulating with him. Full of pep, he holds out a small plastic giraffe attached to a short chain, proud as ever.

“I got a beaver.” Dib grants him a closed smile, knowing it will irritate his already agitated companion.

“That’s very nice.” GIR beams, jostling the giraffe several times to Dib’s continued placating nods. As expected, Zim growls and continues marching forward, bitterly gesturing and ranting to himself as he grabs the leash and yanks GIR back into step with him.

Dib shakes his head, holding back a chuckle knowing he’d set Zim off again and following behind. It's so simple to get caught up in Zim’s zany plots, no matter how small or large. As always, he's willing to go along for the ride with little provocation.

* * *

“So, what are we looking for exactly?” The woods just outside of town are darkening swiftly in the setting sun, mostly empty as it’s a Wednesday and everyone has somewhere to be. The only people left are errant dog walkers and discontent teenagers drinking whatever they’ve stolen from their parent’s liquor cabinets. They pay the three no mind as they go about their business.

“Foolish boy-”

“I’m 21, Zim.”

“You will know Zim’s _ingenious design_ when you are fortunate enough to perceive it!” He hops atop a rock to gesture madly at Dib as he passes by, peering beyond the trees. “You will THANK ME. ZIM. For allowing your **puny eyes** to see such _brilliance_!” Dib just stares at Zim for a moment, somewhere between annoyed and amused and his mouth quirked into a half smile. 

“Man, this is all _really_ getting to you, huh?” He says finally. Zim drops his arms from where he had been holding them over his head which he now cocks to the side. 

“What do you mean?” He’s almost cute in his mild confusion. On the rock, he’s still a hair shorter than Dib, and as Dib closes the gap between them, it's becoming clearer and clearer how long Zim’s arms and legs are becoming. Even in Dib’s hoodie, he can just see the tips of his gloved claws and from his pant legs, he can see a hint of green skin. 

He’s still annoyed, partly looking for a fight because he wants answers, and Zim’s bullheadedness has always been great as getting to Dib. But he’s also just relieved. Zim is here, normal, on edge, but acting as himself. For days, Dib hasn’t been able to get the idea of him alone and hurting in his base out of his head, but he’s just fine. 

Is it affection that fills his chest as Zim grows impatient for an answer, itching at his head where the wig irritates his still shedding skin, or is it relief that things will stay mostly the same? That Zim hasn’t changed all that much?

Zim is in the perfect position, but for what, Dib can’t _won’t_ think of. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Just step a little closer, reach out his hands and-

Just... fucking strangle him.

“You gunna tell me what happened on Wednesday?” He blurts out and Zim immediately scowls before waving the question away with his hand.

“It’s not of your concern, **Dib**.” 

“It is my concern considering you stabbed my hand like seventeen times!” He waves his hand in front of Zim’s face, almost yelping when Zim snatches it out of the air. “Careful!” Despite all reservations telling him to pull his fucked up palm out of Zim’s clawed grasp, he lets the alien judge his shoddy bandaging work. 

He’s...gentle, with the way he lets him thumbs sweep over the stained brown gauze. With his brow knitted in thought, his wig moving a bit as the antenna underneath wriggle, Dib can’t really tell what he’s thinking, but he’s not complaining. His chest swells again, almost choking him with the intensity. His fingers twitch to close around Zim’s, something deep inside wanting to offer comfort despite being the one hurt. 

He stops himself, knowing better than anyone it’ll ruin whatever this is. 

Despite himself, he silently mourns when Zim lets go without a word, hopping off the rock and stuffing his hands into the hoodie. 

“Weak.” He mutters. Dib rolls his eyes. 

And he’s back. 

Dib jogs to catch, running just ahead of Zim so he can keep the slow pace beside him. 

“We should separate. Cover more ground.” The alien barks, not looking at Dib.

“Yeah, cool.” Dib grabs his arm, taking Zim’s sneer in stride. “Can you at least tell me if you’re going to die or not?” Zim’s little hands ball into fists, and he shoves Dib aside before walking off in the opposite direction. 

“Zim is more than **fine** , stink-worm!” He yells, disappearing into the trees, leaving only the sound of branches snapping under his feet. Dib stares into the space where Zim has left, insides rolling with a flash of rejection and bitterness that leaves him more frustrated than he’s felt in days. He could follow Zim, demand answers. Even with his new height, he’s not exactly fast when not using the PAK legs...

“Whatever.” Dib kicks a stick and starts walking the other way. The fight isn’t worth it tonight.

* * *

It's a big black cube, about the size of a pickup truck, and Dib finds it within minutes of just picking a random direction and wandering. It’s not exactly hard to miss, considering the size and queer nature, and the fact that it sits in a decent crater around broken trees helps too.

Dib touches the cubes smooth cool surface, raising an eyebrow at the obvious Irken insignia on the side and the way it lightens and darkens with a red hue as though the metallic object is living, breathing. Dib would question how no one has decided this thing is suspicious, but something tells him that the teens who left their beer cans strewn around the cube didn’t give it two thoughts. He guesses Zim’s ‘amazing camouflage’ of painting THIS IS ART on the side in bright neon green helped too.

In some way.

He almost kicks it, just as a show of defiance to absolutely no one, but refrains. Zim probably has some form of security on the cube that’ll eviscerate him if he touches it the wrong way. Instead, he pulls out his phone, already tired of this after three hours, to text the Irken that he found the thing so they can leave. And he can continue waiting for answers like the ‘good little Dib-beast’ he is.

“I was wondering when you’d show up.” Dib whips around, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. He’s not sure who to expect but he’s guarded nonetheless. Was that old lady actually following them? “They got a big bounty on your head, Irken.”

From the unbroken trees comes a figure, tall and thick, identity obscured by dark clothing. It wobbles where it stands, clearly inhuman despite its seemingly square build that crumbles as the slightest breeze flutters its cloak in strange ways. Dib can’t even tell where the head on the thing is. So probably not the old lady.

He’s looking for an Irken? There’s only one around here, and Zim hasn’t _done_ anything in over a year, unless he’s been secretly embezzling space money when Dib wasn’t looking. 

“Who-” 

He doesn’t even see the thing move before Dib’s being lifted into the air, something smooth and strong wrapped around his chest, pinning his arms to the side. The limb had been shot out over the clearing, it’s owner being reeled in closer as Dib is brought lower to the ground. It squeezes him, breath forced from his lungs in a pained huff as another of its limbs points a strange gun at Dib. It alights him in blinding blue as the thing runs it up and down his form before grunting. 

“Not just a terrible disguise, then.” It’s voice is tinny, clearly mechanical in nature. The device the thing was using to scan him vanishes in a bright glitching manner. With its now free limb, it pulls back its hood, revealing what could be shoulders separated by a protruding lump which shines metallic in the waning light. 

What the fuck is happening?

“Disguise?” Dib wheezes, mildly insulted despite his heart hammering somewhere in his throat and his lungs aching for a proper breath of air. This isn’t the first time he’s been threatened by some random alien in the woods, but he’d vastly prefer it not be happening _now_. 

He wants to look for Zim, needs to get away from whatever this is, but can’t take his eyes off the lump that pulsates as the thing speaks again. 

“Sad. At least I can have a snack while I wait.” Dib’s eyes widen as the protrusion raises up with slick grating noise, a massive maw full of sharp thin teeth that spiral among a black glistening oral cavity stretches out and open toward him. Fetid damp breath washes over him, and he feels frozen, helpless to move.

He’s being pulled in closer by the tendril around him, seconds from that mouth biting his head off. He’s going to die. Actually die here, eaten alive trying help that stupid fucking alien he can’t say no to.

Dizzy from the stench and the lack of oxygen, Dib’s brain kicks back online and he desperately starts to struggle, legs flailing in the air. He hits something among the fluttering black cloak and the thing shrieks in an ear piercing howl, slamming Dib into the cube directly behind them. He can feel his shoulder pop out of place as his head smacks against the smooth metal. 

Now pinned against the cube and still wrapped in an alien limb that tightens to a point where his ribs creak, Dib barely comes back from the stars in his vision as the maw of the beast struggles to get back into position to consume him.

The cube hums behind them, an angry red glow lighting up the unnatural clearing as it whirs to life from the attack. The thing pauses, curious, even as Dib renews his struggle, knowing enough to anticipate what’s-

Electricity arcs off the cube, directly into the both of them, the force of it flying them apart and away from the object. Dib lands some feets away, every muscle tight and unyielding in the aftershocks, but he recovers quickly. Maybe its years of being in dumb fights with Zim or maybe its something that Membrane installed in him that has him hopping to feet with barely a moment to spare. 

He’s up, shooting a glance at the lump of the thing who had smacked into a bent tree some yards away. Without another thought, Dib is shakily off, running and tripping over himself to shoot off back into the woods and towards where he last saw Zim. 

“Hey!” He shouts, sprinting and smacking into branches as he holds his shoulder with his good arm. “Zim!” He has to yell, has to find someone. It doesn’t matter if the thing can hear him. He doesn’t even know what it _is_. It could be deaf for all he knows. 

It’s some kind of predator, and apparently a bounty hunter at that. It’s got ways to find people, and Dib screaming for Zim won’t change much.

He can hear it, galloping after him, wet slicking sounds that slap into the grassy earth intermingled with Dib’s pained wheezing gasping as he runs. He doesn’t know where he’s going; the spaces between the trees darkening rapidly around him. He just has to keep moving, keep pushing himself forward. He has to find Zim-

A rock, a root, it doesn’t matter. Dib trips, loses his balance, lands flat on his front. His glasses fall to the grass in front of him as he barely catches himself on his elbow before crushing them to the dirt. He’s still for a moment, the world blurring around him, blood pounding through every part of him, lungs aching, willing himself to move as his legs and arms refuse to listen.

The panting, the galloping grows closer, closer, and finally Dib all but propels himself forward, leaving his glasses behind and he hops up to his buzzing legs. He can’t make out anything further than an arms length from himself, just concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other; right. Left. Right. Lef-

Something wraps around his leg. He’s lifted into the air, dangling high above the ground, crying out as his jacket and shirt fall down his arms. He yells again, struggling as much as he can before another tendril wraps his arms to his body and he is stuck, cocooned as the thing’s mouth distendeds toward him again. 

“Not going anywhere this time, meat.” Dib can’t look away, the world shrinking to this small space. Dib, alone save for the thing second’s away from biting into him, closes his eyes, the limb around him tightening, tightening-

There’s a flash, a sizzling ripping of flesh and a gutted huff as wet splatters onto Dib’s face. His eyelids slam open as the thing falls to his knees. The limbs loosen from around Dib and he plummets into a heap on the ground with the tendril still around his breaking the fall just as the thing keels over from a massive burning hole in its chest. 

Behind it is Zim, presumably annoyed and holding some kind of weapon aloft in front of him, his robot sidekick hopping up and down beside him. 

“GIR!” He shouts, as though he hadn’t just murdered another alien.

“Yes?”

“Make sure this... _thing_ isn’t getting back up.” 

“ **Yes, sir!”** GIR salutes, leaping into the air dramatically and landing on top of the thing. He starts giggling, and Dib can safely bet he’s poking the dead whatever with a stick. 

Zim marches over the body toward Dib, becoming clearer with every step. He was right, in a way; Zim appears troubled as he stows the ray gun or whatever under the stolen hoodie. He crouches down over Dib, narrowed eyes staring him in the face before he painfully prods Dib on the forehead. 

“Dumb.” 

“Hey…” The hurt of the poke washes away as he begins to wriggle out of his tendril wrappings, a fire in his ribs beginning to burn hotter with each breath. He stops for a second, letting out a pained whimper when his ankle drags on the grass. 

The adrenaline is abating, leaving Dib with nothing but a horribly sprained ankle and some very bruised ribs. 

“What is that?” Dib asks as Zim helps him up, or at least acts like he’s helping. Zim isn’t the best at this, considering his still shorter stature and his diminutive personal strength. 

“You expect ZIM to know all inferior races? Have you gone _MAD_?” Dib rolls his eyes, back on his feet for a third time, though notably favoring the left one. Zim’s eyes narrow as he glares at him again, or at least Dib thinks he is. “Where is the Earth Worm’s pitiful eye enhancers?” 

“Zim, how the fuck should I know?” He can barely keep his eyelids open. Everything seems dim, dimmer than what it should be at this time of day.

“I know!” GIR shouts, waving something in the air. Oh God, he’s been poking the dead body with Dib’s glasses. 

“Give me those!” Zim demands. GIR hops down off the corpse, holding out the glasses for Zim to yank from his little robot hands. “Now go find the black box!” 

“It's back that way.” Dib gestures vaguely the direction he’d run from, flinching when even the motion makes his ribs ache. His head hurts. Everything is starting to hurt.

“Aw, I wanted to poke the guy some more.” 

“GIR! You can come back **after** retrieving my **extremely** important box!” When GIR doesn’t immediately leave, thinking on his orders, Zim sighs. “I’ll get you another beaver.” 

“Yay!” GIR begins giggling again, running off into the woods with his arms up excitedly. Zim returns his attention to Dib, fiddling with the glasses in his hands even as Dib holds out his own palm. Zim ignores him. 

“That alien... said he was... looking for an, ow, Irken.” Dib mentions, wondering if he’s imagining it, or if he tastes blood in his mouth.

“Then it was mistaken which dirt planet it was on now lean _down.”_ Dib does without a second thought, immediately regretting it when his ribs twinge horrible. He stays put however and Zim slips the glasses back over his face, poking in the eye surprisingly only once.

Seeing Zim now, up close, his expression could, for a moment, be considered relieved. He’s ditched the disguise, antennae low over the back of his head, mouth set in a frown as he observes Dib’s face. The blood is rushing in his ears, and he doesn’t quite hear what Zim mutters as he pushes Dib’s glasses up his nose. 

It probably wasn’t important, as one too long breath and Dib’s keeled over from the pain. 

* * *

_Idiot Dib. Stupid...SWEATY Dib. With his...PAPERY…_

_BONES and his dumb..._ ****

**_HEAD._ **

_Almost getting EATEN because of his awful plan to split up. And now he’s_ **_broken_ ** _._

_My ingenious machines are fixing him. He should be GRATEFUL, but he is... asleep now. He will thank Zim later. I can wait. Zim is patient._

_Hmm._

_Dib could have...died. Would have been gone into the stomach of that horrible interloper. I almost didn’t make it on time… Zim heard him yelling, didn’t know I had started running until I found them._

_Dib’s been in danger before. It's always so_ **_amusing_ ** _to see him_ **_squirm._ ** _But this time…_

 _Irkens do not know fear for other_ **_inferior_ ** _lifeforms; they are beneath us, usable, replaceable, but seeing the_ **_dirt worm_ ** _almost get_ **_eaten_ ** _, almost_ die _-_

 _I didn’t like it. I wanted to keep the alien alive, question it, find out why it touched my, MY stuff, but Zim was just so_ **_angry_ ** _seeing it hurting Dib._

 _Hurting what’s_ **_mi-_ **

_Eh...what does it MATTER? I have my machines, my precious parts, and the tentacle...mouth...person had a datapad full of_ **_delicious secrets_ ** _. I can finally focus EVERYTHING on breaking into the Irken database and fixing my DISGUSTING GROWTHS and these…_

_FEELINGS._

_Even so, the Dib is useless at caring for himself. He would be DEAD WITHOUT ME. He never takes care of his pitiful body’s base requirements and just LOOK at this hand. So SOFT, and floppy, and_ **_bleeding…_ **

_Computer! Where are the medical strips?_

* * *

Maybe it's a dream, maybe it's not. Maybe it’s a trick of his memory and various painkillers that have been pumped into him before Zim hooked him up to his bone-restructuring device, before Zim pushed the button and a whole host of needles jabbed repeatedly into his cracked ribs and fractured ankle as it mended the breaks with alien tech. 

Dib’s eyes flutter open, groggily aware of Zim yelling and muttering to no one, seated beside where Dib lay. He’s woken up to this before, and he has half a mind to just let the painkillers take him under again, but something stops him.

“Wha-” His fucked up hand is in Zim’s lap, the alien bent over it as he dabs what is most likely a betadine solution-soaked cotton ball to the various superficial wounds. They’ve broken open again, most likely during Dib’s scuffle with the thing in the woods, though he didn’t notice, too busy running for his life with a healthy dose of adrenaline to keep him on his toes. 

Zim looks up from his work, at first fearful, but then relaxes as he takes in how completely out of it Dib is. He leans over the control panel above Dib’s head, pressing in a few commands. 

“Rest your ugly head, Dib.” One of the needles changes course, stabbing him quickly and efficiently in the neck. Before he can complain about being put under again, Dib is out, and when he next wakes up, he only has the foggy memory of Zim re-bandaging his hand, expression bordering on…

Content. 

He’ll chalk it up to the drugs, nothing more, nothing less.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Please review the tags and the updated rating.

SPECIES: IRKEN

DESIGNATION: ZIM

REWARD: 5,000,000

LAST SEEN: EARTH

BROUGHT IN ALIVE

“Well, alright then.” They’re in Zim’s base, at his largest computer terminal, the bounty hunter’s datapad hooked up to the console. It barely took any time to get in; Zim kept the body for ‘reasons too high minded for your puny human synapses to comprehend’, translation being ‘GIR got to poke the body so I wanted to as well’. 

To be fair, Dib wanted a poke around too. It did try to eat him after all; it only seemed fair.

The body is still laid out in the aptly named freezer room, all clothing removed as Dib had been sneakily preparing it for dissection when Zim burst in with the datapad, realizing he needed a retinal scan.

“There’s an actual bounty on your head.” He’s leaning on the head of the chair where Zim is sitting, resting his chin on his arms, leaning most of his weight there. His chest aches, residual inflammation from having his ribs knitted back together still bothering him even 24 hours afterwards. It’s better than the broken bones, all things considered. He’s just glad Zim has gotten so good at putting humans back together or Dib would be homeless from the hospital bills alone. 

Zim, for his part, is pensive, elbows on the sides of the massive keyboard, index fingers pressed together against his mouth as he glares daggers at the screen. 

“Inconceivable.” He mutters to his claws. Dib shrugs behind him.

“I mean, it's not that surprisin-”

“INCONCEIVABLE!” Zim is up on his seat, standing, fist shaking at the ceiling. He hops down, immediately going to pace back and forth. “False. Insulting. Impossible!” Zim stops, pointing at his own face on the massive computer screen. “A **_MISTAKE_ **!”

One of Dib’s eyebrows quirks in amusement.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, chuckling. Zim fixates on him, a muscle twitching in his lower cheek.

“What am I not speaking of, _Dib_ ? Zim has done NOTHING. **NOTHING. In one miniscule Earthen** **_year_ ** **!”** He shakes his finger at Dib, waggling the indication of ‘one’ right to left. Dib shakes his head in disbelief. 

“You nuked a planet!” 

“One measly planet does not get an Invader a bounty on his head!” 

“Oh, come on. Some alien has got to have beef with you.” Zim’s expression becomes affronted.

" _Some_ alien? This isn’t a call from _some alien_. That’s a bounty from Irk itself!” He points out the insignia and the delivery address, which seems to be a modified Irken insignia. Honestly, the insignia is on literally everything Dib has ever seen from space, so he didn't really think anything of it. “The Control Brains!”

“Okay, even so-”

“Have they not done enough to poor Zim?” 

“You killed one of them!” 

“Is your head so EMPTY? Zim ‘allegedly’-” He does the finger quotes, pacing again. “murdered a Control Brain, yes, but this is why I am banished from anything the Armada touches. If the Brains wanted Zim de-programmed and recycled on public trial, they would have recalled me before banishment. But THIS-” Pointing again at the bounty. “Is being sent out privately. In **secret.** From THE REST **OF IRK.** ”

“How-”

“Because, idiot Dib-stink, ordering non-Irkens to find an Invader is beneath us. Why would they ask for an _inferior_ species to go after perfection when another Irken could do it **better?** They would’ve sent one of us to get me if it wasn’t in the… not...loud...way…”

Why would they want Zim, though? As far as he could tell, his Tallest and the Brains had no love for Zim, no matter how vehemently he denied it. They cut him off, stranded him on a planet far, _far_ outside Irken space, took away any access to interstellar space communication, took down his space station, Dib’s pretty sure the Voot is still out of commission…

As far as anyone knows or cares, their problem citizen is a blip in the endless expanse of space, de-fanged and chained to an inconsequential rock. So why this _now?_

“Have you ever heard of them doing this before?” It’s Zim’s turn to shrug, side eyeing Dib with a glare.

“Why would Zim know that?” He snaps, typing something into a different monitor. “Zim is an Invader, not some historian.” 

“How do you know that it’s being kept hush hush but you don’t know if they’ve done this before?”

“Do not question Zim’s **amazing** mind, dirt worm!” 

“Okay.” Dib gives up, turning back to the computer screen, a much shorter visage of Zim greeting him with a usual smirk, while real Zim begins slowly walking toward the door. There’s a dread that's been in the pit of Dib's gut since that thing attacked him last night that starts to sluggishly grow the more he lets his mind wander. 

Were more on their way? The bounty contained coordinates and tracking codes for Zim’s PAK. The Irken had a target on his back, and unfortunately that also meant the world he was currently living on. As much as Dib stopped giving two fucks about the rest of humanity years ago, he and his sister are here too and if shit gets out of hand-

The few other aliens and Irkens who have graced the Earth were substantially worse than Zim and his often left-of-possible plans to take over the planet. It was only by sheer luck and Zim’s astounding tenacity that the Earth hasn’t been decimated yet. Even though he still has the base, Zim doesn’t have much in the way weaponry anymore, and most of his defensive capabilities have fallen into disrepair due to disuse or just gutted and reused for vanity projects or GIR's numerous hobbies.

It's been quiet on Earth since Zim stopped trying to take it over. No one's bothered them as if once again, everyone had forgotten the Earth existed alongside Zim. What happens, then, if the universe suddenly starts taking an interest in him again?

A cry rings out in the quiet base, and Dib’s attention is quickly taken by Zim. The alien has fallen to his knees on his way out, trembling claws reaching back to uselessly pat at his PAK under the hoodie he still wears. Dib is at his side in just a few steps, concern superseding the gnawing anxiety.

“Hey,” He kneels down next to Zim, just barely touching his shoulder in order to get his attention. He must have tried deploying the auxiliary legs in his absent-mindedness. With a grunt, Zim slams a fist into the floor, resting on his knees and one elbow as his back bows with a gasp. 

Curious, Dib goes to lift his top to make sure the legs aren't stuck again, but Zim bats his hand away with a hiss. 

“Don’t _touch_ m-” Dib clamps the hand on Zim’s shoulder down harder and the alien tries to shake him off.

“Just let me look!” Zim growls at him, laying there a moment before-

“Fine!” Zim elbows him in the arm, shifting to sit with his back facing Dib and a wholly displeased look to him. Dib adjusts his glasses after a mumbled protest, but in truth he’d rather Zim be sitting up for this. It feels less forceful, for whatever that’s worth considering their history. 

After a bit of a reshuffle, Dib is sat cross legged, easily pulling the hoodie up as gently as he can, ignoring Zim’s general protests of ‘being too slow’ and ‘is Zim made of **glass**?’. He’s not fucking around given what happened the last time. When the top is well and good over Zim’s PAK and he sees all the four coverings are closed and a neutral pink, he feels free to inspect the rest of Zim’s back.

First thing he notices is that it’s still an unholy mess of dried carapace, loose flakes shivering off onto the floor. It’s not shocking, at least not in comparison to when Dib see’s the swelling under the PAK, which has started to fold over the sides of the metal device. He touches it, the skin having hardened into a dark shell. There, it seems the surface has also started flaking and when Dib scratches at it, what comes off if nothing more than dust. 

“Can you feel that?” Zim grunts, back tense and antennae alert. He won’t tolerate this for much longer, so Dib goes back to his inspection. He can’t see anything moving underneath as the once translucent skin is now opaque. He about shove the hoodie back down to release Zim to whatever he was doing when something else catches his eye.

Hidden by the amount of dried carapace are strange little dark green bumps, dotting symmetrically around Zim’s PAK, all the way to his neck. Some larger, some smaller, a few clearly angry as they were swollen against the Irken’s back. There had to be at least 15 or so. Dib must’ve made a noise as he examined them because Zim glanced over his shoulder, eyes wide.

“What? What is it?” He demanded, back curving away when Dib lightly ran a finger over a larger one. “Stop that! Whatever the Dib is touching, cease immediately!” The skin or carapace or whatever seems thin, bulbous, and, ignoring the protests, Dib gently scratches at the protrusion. With little pressure, it bursts. 

Underneath is the tip of what could only be described as a thick black hair-like protrusion that stands in stark contrast to the pale green of Zim’s back. With little reservation, Dib flicks it with a finger, and receives an elbow to his face again for his troubles. He expected something to happen, but not with such force and definitely without the ear-splitting screech.

"Fuck-!"

He’s knocked to the ground, the point catching him hard in the jaw as he falls over flat on his back. With barely a moment to register the movement, Zim is sat upon his chest, knees pinning his upper arms to the floor. One clawed hand is shoving his head down, keeping his neck exposed as Zim’s wrist is pressed against his pulse. Is it the bone in his wrist or something new, something sinister stabbing dully near the artery in his throat?

Zim’s expression is wild, pink teeth gritted in unrepentant rage as he pants harder than Dib has ever seen him. Dib swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing and prompting Zim to press even harder against his throat, eliciting a sound that lands somewhere between terrified and _warm_ from the human under him. The claws at his forehead dig in, just teasing at breaking the skin under his hair, head being forced even harder into the metal flooring and his pulse leaps. 

He can’t move, stuck to the floor, whether in some twisted fear response to the assault or his own private disconnect with self-preservation as he grows hotter and hotter. Every push to his head, every pinprick to his scalp, every shift of Zim atop him has Dib sinking further and further down, body pulled taut yet limp. He should be yelling, shoving Zim off; he should be trembling with fear because for all he knows, Zim is trying to kill him.

Instead he just...lays there, waiting, open, wanton images flashing in his mind’s eye as he shivers with the willingness to submit to _anything_.

Zim breathes in, mouth open, red tongue poking out the side and he shifts again, hips pressing down into his chest, into his over-sensitive ribs. Dib can’t tear his gaze away as Zim moves forward, back, stuttering, teeth snapping back together-

And then it clicks.

“Zim…?” The Irken freezes, antennae twitching forward as his gaze widens again, the anger lining his face now morphing slowly into a dawning realization. 

He lets go, right hand grabbing his left wrist with a gasp. He inspects his arm, thumb running over the space where the metacarpals and ulna would meet on a human, his curiosity dissipating, leaving only horror in its wake. 

“Zim?” As if remembering Dib is there, under him, still pinned and searching for an answer, Zim jumps off him. Still holding his wrist, Zim takes a step back, and another, and a third before he’s marching away without a word of warning. 

“Wait-” The door to the next chamber opens and slams shut, leaving Dib to groan and hit his head on the floor in frustration.

He lays there for a solid ten minutes, catching his breath and attempting to slow the broken carousel his thoughts have become. He comes to three realizations in that time before he picks himself off the floor and heads on wobbly legs to the elevator. 

  1. He’s bleeding from a very superficial cut in his neck
  2. His dick has perked up as per usual
  3. Zim was _grinding_ on him



* * *

_No no no no no no_

**_NO._ **

_Burning. BURNING. As if I’m on fire! When did Zim become so warm?_

_And the BLOOD. MOVING. Has this growth malfunctioned my PAK? Sending_ **_precious fluids_ ** _where they ought not to BE?_

_What did that revolting...HIDEOUS...BOY do to me?_

_More is changing. There’s these..._ **_nubs_ ** _. On my wrists. When did they get there? How did Zim not notice them growing? And that_ **_thing_ ** _. On my back. I ordered the Dib to cease but his_ **_stupid idiot monkey brain_ ** _disobeyed._

 _Looking in a mirror now, I can see it. It looks like a new antenna but_ **_why on my back?_ **

**_And why is there more growing?_ **

_Zim became panicked when it was touched. Felt like an attack. I-_

_I lost control._

_I didn’t know what I was doing. All Zim wanted was to protect myself, to_ **_eviscerate_ ** _whoever dared to attack ME. But Zim had no_ **_weapon_ ** _. What was he stabbing with?_

 _When I realized what I was doing, I was going to let the Dib go, tell him off for assaulting ZIM but then he made that_ **_noise_ ** _with his…_

_MOUTH._

_And he-_

_I-_

_The area between my… legs feels tight. Strange. I cannot find anything wrong on the surface. It is smooth as usual. So when I...moved like_ **_that_ ** _, why did it feel so-_

_Hmm._

_The Computer is finally being USEFUL and is assembling the imaging machine from the parts recovered in the black box. I needn’t worry. The tightness is already loosening and soon Zim will know the full extent of these_ **_irritations_ ** _and I can go back to_ **_normalcy._ **

**_Delicious normalcy. I can almost TASTE IT._ **

* * *

Gir tries to stop him on his way out, eyes watering impossibly at he points to the TV. Gaz is streaming, arguing with some unseen teammate about ‘too many dps fucks’ and someone ‘has to switch to healer’. Dib sighs and crosses the living room, GIR’s little hand tracking him when he gets past the couch.

“You’re ‘master’ is in a mood.” He likes watching his sister play; he catches the streams whenever he can but today he’s not in the right mind to sit down with a defective robot and spend a few hours while his sister cusses out every other gamer on the planet. “I got better things to do than wait around for him to figure himself out.” 

Okay, he really doesn’t, but the base is suddenly suffocating and he just wants to be alone right now. 

“B-but…” Dib opens the door, grimacing at the setting sun and then at GIR’s forlorn frown, before stepping over the threshold.

“See ya later.” 

The commute home is consequently the single longest trip of his entire life, which is saying something considering how many times he’s been in space. He knows it’s the paranoia, the sense of unease with how on edge he is at the moment making him twitchy, but he’s certain every person is watching him struggle to maintain composure. 

He wants to yell, to scream, to blabber to the first person who will listen. 

_It’s not possible._

He had to be imagining it, right? Zim’s got **nothing** down there. He’s seen it, him, without clothes. He’s seen Irken anatomy diagrams, read up on the way the species reproduces, their interpersonal relationships, their general outlook on other races mating rituals… How many times has Zim commented in disgust and disregard to human sexuality with an almost reflexive contempt? 

The way he moved, however… the look on his face for that split second before Dib spoke and broke the spell; he’s seen it before. Hell, he’s _done_ that before fighting Zim, more than he’d like to admit, always awkwardly stumbling away when in the heat of battle some errant limb presses against his crotch just right. Is that what happened here, today, while Zim was holding him down, angry, assuredly ready to really, _truly_ hurt him?

It can't be, can it?

He’s too distracted on his way up to his apartment, all but _vibrating_ , that he knocks into the neighbor chick from upstairs on her way up as well.

“Sorry.” Something clunks to the concrete landing, and Dib bends to pick it up, barely getting a hand around the hand-sized dark gray box when the lady snatches it from his grasp. 

“It’s fine.” She snaps, holding it to her chest with suspicion. She regards him for a moment, brow raising when she realizes he’s taking in the strange purple spattering across her pale features and her blouse. 

“Are you-” 

“Stay inside tonight.” She blurts, turning heel and jogging up the stairs. “Hooligans about.” 

“Hooligans?” The door slams above him, and then hers seconds after that. Dib takes it in stride: everyone’s having a night, he guesses. He wasn’t planning on going anywhere anyways. 

Opening his door, he pauses, reality smacking him in the face. Did he really just hurry home to jack off to a hypothetically impossibility after an alien shoved him to the floor and probably tried to stab him? Is he sixteen again?

On his couch, now, he sits ramrod straight, knee bouncing in time to nothing more than the want for something. He picks up his phone, puts it down, opens his laptop, closes it again. Stares at the faded teal clock on the microwave, his legs and abdomen tense and tight. His hand is on his knee, his thigh, he curls it into a fist before it inches up any further. 

He’s not thinking about it. He won’t think about it. His heart hammers anxiously, excitedly, and he can feel the sweat form on the nape of his neck. He wants to lay down, more than anything wants the privacy a comforter brings even in his lonely apartment, but he knows what will come after, what will happen the moment he is no longer exposed to no one. 

He’s excited over nothing, over an idea that could not, will not manifest into anything other than hollow delusion. 

The time turns over one minute, two, and his other hand, the one still healing, finds its way to his neck, fingers innocently trailing up his throat. It’s easy to find it; the shallow laceration just below his pulse. He’d wiped it down before heading out, cleaning up the dried blood and the wound itself. He tried not to touch it much then, using as little pressure as he could while he disinfected.

When he touches it now, rubs away the scabbing to open it anew, he has no reservations about being harsh. The sting is sharp and short as he presses his fingers into the cut, but the sigh he releases is soft and wanting. His hand has uncurled on his thigh, thumb digging into the meat of it as images flash guiltily behind eyelids he doesn’t remember closing. 

Knees pinning him, hands shoving his head down, hips stuttering on him, over him, using him-

His hand has drifted up his thigh, closer, closer still to rapidly growing interest between his legs, index finger wet with blood and still tracing the errant zings of pain from the cut on his neck. Dib stills, guilt curdling like aged milk in his stomach and nape growing cold as he realizes what he’s doing. 

He’s not doing this again. 

He washes the blood off his hand, wipes down the injury, and resigns himself to his bed, determined to just rub one out like a normal fucking person. Have some normal fucking fantasies about normal things with normal people who aren’t space aliens with a penchant for violence and a general disrespect for personal space. Get this over with so he can move on with his week.

Dib sits on his mattress, laying back, sans pants, absentmindedly letting his palm circle over his groin. He could think of anything, could imagine any scenario, any range of partners or situations, but every attempt to focus on anything else always leads him back to what happened earlier. He groans, staring at the ceiling and pausing his half-hearted ministrations.

So Zim _looked_ like he was moving his hips in a suspiciously self-pleasuring manner. There was a good chance it was Dib’s over-active imagination anthropomorphizing a movement of hips to suit his own private fantasies. He may be growing taller, may be developing strange hair...things, but there’s hardly a chance in hell he’s growing _genitals_. People don’t just grow those, do they?

Once the idea gets in his head, however. Dib can’t stop thinking about it. He sighs, closes his eyes and gives up, resigning himself to letting his imagination lead him to wherever it wants. 

He’s back at the base, the alien over him, longer, larger, thin arms masking a certain strength that pins his wrists to the floor effortlessly in one clawed grasp. It’s cold against the bare skin of his hands, but the figure above him is burning, searing right into him with a narrowed appraising gaze and a mouth set into a sneer. The talons free from holding Dib down rake over the human’s chest, imaginary Zim delighting in the wanton cry it illicits. 

His hand slips into his boxers and he grips himself, arm thrown over his eyes as the fantasy skips around. He has no patience for imagined foreplay tonight. In his head, Zim has opened Dib’s mouth, running his thumb over the human’s tongue and to pull his lips open farther. 

With little preamble, the claws are grasping his hair and he’s thrust roughly into Dib’s mouth. Dib mewls in his bed, toes curling as he works himself faster, dick already leaking from what could be summarized as elongated teasing. He won’t last long; not with how hard he’s getting fucked in the mouth in his head or how desperate his hips are pumping to meet his hand.

The Zim is his head’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, panting as saliva drips to the floor, his thrusting growing more and more erratic. The arm over his eyes shifts so his hands can pull at his own hair as the fantasy does the same, the ache from his still healing hand mixing with the fresh sting of the bruise forming on his scalp. He keens, fucking into his hand, focusing on the idea of his mouth being taken so violently, carelessly, as he falls over the precipice, yanking on his hair and making a mess of his hand and sheets. 

“Fuck.” He lays there, whimpering and panting, coming down as the post-orgasm waves subside. He draws them out as long as possible with a soft grind into his cum-soaked palm until his overly-sensitive cock twitches harshly in protest. 

He slumps against the mattress, weightlessness being replaced with the gravity of anxious guilt and the aftertaste of bitter self-resentment. He rolls onto his side, tucking himself back into his boxers and closing his eyes. He’ll clean up tomorrow, limbs too heavy to move now, and he drifts off before he can fixate on the mortifying reality that always hits him after he indulges like this.

He can hope and he can dream, but there's not a chance in hell Zim is developing genitalia. Or that he'd even be interested in Dib if he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a flimsy excuse to write the end bit. Thanks for reading and for all the lovely words! I hope you enjoyed and see you next time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: minor description of alien gore

_I have forgotten how terrible tweaking medical machinery can be without live test subjects._

_I HATE IT._

_It takes..._ **_so... LONG_ ** _. Every minute detail must be accounted for, every percentage of failure possible must be tuned out in the simulations which have to be run over and OVER again. If not done properly,_ **_carefully_ ** _, my PAK could be permanently damaged or_ **_I_ ** _could even be liquefied by the intense magnetic rays. I would be turned to GOO._

**_I have no WANT to be GOO..._ **

_It is so much easier to use humans for these kinds of things but the leftovers are difficult to get rid of and Dib blubbers ENDLESSLY when I do. So I will save myself the HEADACHE and run the simulations._

_In the meantime, I have had to modify my clothing replicator, as this insipid growth has made all current uniforms obsolete. With those hair...antennae...WHATEVER growing out on my back along with the swelling under my PAK, the standard issue tops are impossible to wear even if adjusted for the new height._

_ITS TOO TIGHT._

_They’re stiff and they sift through the fabric. Every snag, every pull on those HAIRS is nauseating! It is so much EASIER to wear nothing, but what am I? ZIM IS NO ANIMAL. And I **feel** so much more when they're... **in the open.** DISTRACTING. _

_T_ _he Dib’s thick loose hood-thing is a good temporary solution, but the weather is turning colder and he’s already WHINING about not having it. I’m certain with my_ **_genius_ ** _, I can replicate it._

 _Though I will have to make it out of more durable material than what the_ **_humans_ ** _use. It is tiresome to have GIR fix all the tears from the wrist pointies. I was going to file them down, but they have proven their worth. They can skewer a_ **_greatmanysnacks_ ** _._

 _There is… something else. Ever since that_ **_wretched DAY_ ** _when I first discovered the hairs and the idiot dirt worm did SOMETHING to me, the pain beneath my squeedlyspooch has grown worse._

_IT WRIGGLES. LIKE SO MANY WORMS IN A DISGUSTING WORM-BALL_

_And that_ **_feeling._ ** _It has resurfaced every now and then whenever my TRAITOROUS BRAIN thinks about...before… It..._ **_tingles_ ** _…_

_HORRIBLE._

_There is no relief. Touching anywhere near the tingling results in MORE PAIN._

_WHAT IS THE POINT OF THIS?_

_I’ve scoured the dead wiggly’s datapad for any possible information on my..._ **_afflictions_ ** _, but the databases it was connected to have little information on Irkens outside of officially released learning materials and forums of inferior races speculating on their overlords. While it is_ **_amusing_ ** _to see what the lesser species think of the might that is the Irken, it is un_ **_helpful._ **

_Useless._

_USELESS._

**_USELESS._ **

_Must ZIM hack himself back into the Irken datastreams? Can nothing be easy for Zim? At least the overlyambitioustentaclething did me one good thing by providing this route back into the inter-galactic database. I have a potential to find parts for the Voot and a way off this dirtball if I find myself needing..._

...illicit medical treatment...

 _Once the machinery is properly tested and all chances of failure are_ **_squeezed_ ** _from it, I shall have the immediate answers to what is happening within my body and I can remove this MUTATION or whatever has found itself GROWING on me._

_Then, once I am back to my perfect form with this new tallness, I shall be better than ever! More **capable. More...me...** _

_I will take over this insipid planet and THEN **IRK ITSELF!** _

_“No, you won’t!”_

_GIR! What are you DOING in the medical testing bay? Why aren’t you at_ **_yodeling_ ** _practice?_

_“I get a juice break.”_

_And you didn’t bring_ **_Zim_ ** _ANY?_

* * *

It’s been a busy two weeks. He’s been called into work more nights than not, and with midterms, Dib has been run ragged, the only thing keeping him sane is a certain Irken constantly texting him accidentally enjoyable diatribes about his day. Zim, for his part, has apparently also been busy, which is a first in a long while. The last time Zim had anything to occupy his green paranoid hands had been when he was planning to carve the planet into an effigy for his Tallest using nuclear warheads. 

This time around is a little more productive. 

THE FINE TUNING. IT ELUDES ME. - Spaceboy

 _That sucks man._ \- Dib

UNHELPFUL. WHY IS THE DIB NOT MORE USEFUL - Spaceboy

 _You’re right. I should have gone into engineering with a minor in xenobiology so I could someday help you make a machine to specifically scan an Irken without hurting their PAK. My bad._ \- Dib

PRECISELY. WHY DIDN’T YOU - Spaceboy

Dib stifles a grin, placing a soiled bowl in the sink to be washed...eventually. He leaves Zim’s rhetorical question hanging, opting to check the updated scores for the tests he took this week, sighing in relief when he sees the barely passing grade. It's enough to put him at ease that he isn’t flunking out of the classes he meticulously put himself in almost certainly unpayable debt for as he beelines for his laptop on the couch to finish the final midterm essay on his schedule.

It’s not been easy to finish as it’s been difficult to sleep as of late, between finals and work and…

He’s not worried about Zim. Why would he be? Zim’s been fine. He hasn’t complained about anatomically, other than being bored and itchy and achey he thinks? Nothing too bad. And he hasn’t mentioned anything about space mercs coming to whisk him off back to Irk in the dead of the night or the Armada itself showing up to decimate the planet, along with their problem child, or that his eyeballs are liquefying out of their sockets…

Dib groans and lets his forehead gently smack into the foldable tray table where his computer sits in front of him. So he’s a little worried, a little distracted. His mind keeps fucking off while he was doing practice tests for Calc-whatever he’s in now. He keeps lying awake at night, imagining all the fucked up ways Zim is possibly _dying_ or all the bounty hunters spying on his base, waiting for the perfect time to pounce. Keeps anxiously waiting for GIR show up at his door in a state as his Master is either dead or a million light-years away leaving Dib stranded on Earth with nothing more than a massive college debt and no one to talk to.

His phone beeps, Zim demanding answers as to why Dib didn’t have the foresight about his current predicament. He thumbs a sarcastic response but deletes it. It’s fine. He’s fine. They’re fine. 

Everything is just...fine.

He puts his phone on silent and tosses it to the other end of the couch to be ignored as he places his fingers on the laptop keyboard. Dib just needs to finish this last thing, and then he gets the break next month, and then he can obsessively hang out at Zim's in between shifts. He just needs to focus for a bit longer.

No more distractions tonight.

* * *

“Why didn’t you come in through the window?” 

He had to let the green bastard in. He _had_ to. Zim was loudly and repeatedly pressing his doorbell button, shouting into the mic. It was only a matter of time before one the neighbors called the cops on him. 

Again.

“Idiot fool boy.” Zim scoffs, just barely having to duck under Dib’s arm to immediately raid his cabinets. “I merely wanted to see the inside of your PUTRESCENT apartment building for myself.” He has to have grown at least another four inches these past two weeks. He doesn’t even have to climb onto the countertop to reach the granola bars anymore, merely stretching onto his toes to claw at the box until it nearly falls onto his face. 

“GIR stole the grappling hook, huh?” Dib closes the door, stepping over to the couch and leaving Zim to fumble with the unopened package. He slumps onto the well-worn cushion, pulling the tray table closer just as Zim rips the box open in frustration, little packets of bars spilling onto the floor. 

“That awful robot….” He growls, picking up a few packets and kicking the rest out of his way into the meager living space. Dib eyes the wrapped food on his floor, but says nothing. Zim will probably eat every single one of those by the time he leaves. 

“I’m not entertaining you tonight.” Dib warns, already starting to get back to where he left off in his essay. “I’ve got this paper to finish before Monday.” 

“Eh?” Zim narrows his eyes, antennae twitching as he processes the words. Dib waits patiently for the blow out. “Is Zim some earth **monkey**? In need of DISTRACTION?”

“Basically, yeah.” He just barely catches the packet thrown at his face. “Ha!” Dib shouts in triumph, holding it high in the air just as a second careens into his nose. “Fuck!”

“Foolish squirmy Dib! You think Zim would not have a second **PROJECTILE**?” Zim cackles as Dib rubs the sting out of his skin, collapsing onto the other end of the couch and already tearing into one of the bars. Dib rolls his eyes and tosses the one in his hand into Zim’s lap before turning back to his computer. 

“Har har, can I get back to my homework now?” Zim waves him off, already pulling out the dead bounty hunter’s datapad, clearly getting himself comfortable in the corner of the couch. Soon, the apartment is filled with the low droning of what could only be some alien language as the Irken entertains himself with presumably intergalactic daytime television, leaving Dib free to concentrate on his essay. 

It's pleasant, even if nothing is said save for Zim's harumphs and snickers. Dib isn't a social creature, could never get into the people scene, but fuck if the apartment doesn't get lonely without semi-regular visits from the alien. It puts him at ease just having Zim here with him. He can actually concentrate now, with the object of his anxieties sat just a few feet away. 

Dib should’ve known the relative quiet wouldn’t last though. Maybe an hour goes by and Zim starts getting wriggly. Kicking his feet out, shifting in his seat, half aborted growls and hisses as he itches at his chest and back. Is it the weird hair things bothering him or his molting? Dib isn’t sure, but his focus is shot out the window when Zim closes the datapad in frustration. 

“I thought you were happy to have ‘space’ internet back.” He teases as Zim glares at him, shifting restlessly. 

“I don’t need your... _opinions_ , stinkbeast.” He grabs the pad again, fervently searching for something else to distract him. Dib grins, rolling his eyes and getting back to his own work. 

Every few minutes though, his attention is snatched away again. It's difficult not to notice things about Zim now that his concentration is broken. His cheekbones seem more angular, face in general just a tad more alien, almost insectoid. The naked fingers angrily swiping on the screen’s surface appear longer, claws more pronounced. Dib wonders if he ditched the gloves because they weren’t fitting anymore, or if he simply forgot. 

Or maybe he tore them, the now gnarly looking curved spike coming out of each of his wrists catches Dib’s scrutiny more than once. The memory is still fresh in his mind; Zim really had been trying to skewer him that afternoon. Thank fucking God he hadn’t grown the inch and a half long shivs yet. 

He swallows, pushes that out of his head, tries to type some more, lets Zim continue to lay down, sit back up, fold himself into a little ball, stretch back out, every position he can hold in his continued quest to get comfortable. 

It shouldn't have been surprising he’d become a part of this sooner or later, but it still shocks him when a head lands in his shoulder. Dib ignores it for the time being, but its not long after that said head ends up in his lap. Zim is on his side, PAK facing out to the rest of the room and knees curled enough to almost trick one into believing Zim hasn’t grown an inch.

“Comfy?” Zim doesn’t answer, just grunts and shifts his face a bit on Dib’s thigh to continue swiping through whatever he’s reading on the pad. It’s a bit awkward, the way he’s facing Dib’s stomach and with his arms folded the way they are, but Dib leans back to give him room. He has to stretch to reach the keyboard now, but he has no motivation to tell Zim to move. 

Hell, he has negative motivation. You couldn't pay him to.

As much as he hates to admit it, he’s missed this, these little moments where Zim uses him as some form of pillow or furniture. It’s just been a mess these last weeks and Dib had tried hard not to dwell on how much he hoped this wouldn’t stop altogether. With Zim growing and everything happening, who knew if Zim would even be himself come the end of all this. 

Idiot alien didn’t even fit in his lap anymore, which was a fucking weird thing to both acknowledge and admit is a problem, but Dib's life has never been normal so he just rolls with it.

It's a little tug on his chin scruff that alerts Dib to the abandoned datapad by his hip and Zim’s new interest, which appears to be the hair on his jaw and neck he hasn’t bothered to shave in a few days. Nimble claws poke and pull at individual strands, the alien attached to them making various faces between well-worn disgust and startling curiosity.

Dib continues to pretend to ignore him, letting Zim do whatever he felt like for the moment. He wasn’t being aggressive or overly intrusive, and it was even kind of nice to be the direct focus of an exploratory touch from the alien. As the prodding and pulling turns to a tentative stroke, Did’s ears begin to blush warmer and warmer with every pass against his chin. 

They don’t touch like this. _Zim_ doesn’t touch like this. He slaps, shoves, takes; his hands are used to grip and tear and mold whatever has piqued his interest. Dib’s never seen, especially not _felt_ , Zim explore something so absentmindedly, earnestly. Never seen him grimace as a hair pokes him uncomfortably with one direction and then seem pleasantly surprised at the feeling of another. 

“Stupid face hair…” Zim mutters, rubbing the pads of his two fingers over the hump of Dib’s chin. “Scratchy.” 

“Hmm.” Dib types some nonsense. He’s not paying attention to where his hands are on the keyboard or what words are being placed in the document, his mind too preoccupied by the PAK situated between his legs, by Zim’s twitching antennae against his arm, by the sneer on Zim’s mouth juxtaposed by the faint fascination in his gaze. 

Dib forces himself to remain collected, breath normally, expecting Zim to, at any moment, dig his claws into his skin, hop up in boredom, proclaim his disinterest and leave Dib confused and muddled. Zim doesn’t, continues his ministrations, moving his touch down Dib’s jaw, down further to feel his pulse, goes back to his chin with half thoughtful, half repugnant wonder. His head tilts this way and that, and he pushes himself up slightly onto his elbow bringing his face closer still. 

“Does this...affect you?” Dib's blushing, full on pink in his cheeks as Zim taps lightly at his lips. It wouldn’t be hard, if Dib had a death wish, to take one of them in his mouth. He heats up even more at that thought, the image in his head sending his heart racing. 

How touch starved is he that such simple actions have him on edge already?

“N-no? Yes?” It is, honestly. He’s becoming more and more flustered, what with the weight in his lap and the thoughts blaring in his mind. Why does Zim make this so complicated? “In a different way, you know…” 

“Zim know’s no such thing.” He hisses, covering Dib’s mouth fully with his palm, thump spanning his cheekbone on one side while his fingers cover the other. Sweat is beading in Dib’s hairline, hindbrain crossing signals again and he can’t tell if he should shove Zim off or lave his hand with his tongue. Would Zim burn from the spit or merely be disgusted by the act, shoving Dib away with a shout? 

His arm quakes where he has it still resting on the tray table, wanting nothing more than to lift it and place his own hand over Zim’s. Cover it, hold it there, refuse to let him pull away so he can mouth at the meat of the palm, suckle on the tip of his claws, make Zim feel what he’s been suffering for years...

He starts to move it, heart in his throat as Zim sneers at him, face inches away-

A flash lights up the dark window followed by a yowl, and a sickening crunching that has Zim all but falling out of his lap.

While Dib remains frozen, too befuddled to move, Zim is up in an instant, clamoring to peer out the window into the alley it faces, searching in the dark of the night for anything. Dib shakes himself, stands, and follows as Zim spots whatever had made the noise. He’s already sprinting across the apartment toward the door by the time Dib gets to the window, just barely finding the disturbance before Zim shouts at him to accompany him to take a closer look.

There, in the middle of the wet pothole ridden blacktop, was a faint but noticeable glow. 

* * *

“Ah ha!” Zim gestures just past the dumpster, magenta eyes glowing softly in the dark. Dib steps over, disgusted noise eeking out of his throat when he steps in a dirty puddle. He turns his phone flashlight to the ground as he comes closer, determined to not get him pants any more wet. 

He just did laundry. 

“What the hell?” The light reveals a figure, clearly alien, three arms, four compound eyes, a proboscis, the whole nine yards. It’s absolutely dead with a massive smoldering chunk taken out of its shoulder and chest, though the smallest arm closest to the hole twitches, whether due to some latent muscular response or some residual fluid is up in the air.

Zim bends down, muttering as usual as he shifts some of the alien’s clothing around and instructs Dib to move the light per his orders to better aid his search. Within moments, he pulls out a dark hand-sized rectangle with a hissed _yes._

“What is it?” Dib asks, nodding at the little box as Zim starts fiddling with its smooth surface. 

“Hmmm…” With a few fumbling gestures, the box expands into a thin green lit datapad. “Newer cheap model.” He kicks the body before stepping past Dib. “Idiot fly...UGLY didn’t even lock it!” Dib rounds him to look over his shoulder, Zim’s own mugshot smirking at them. Was the merc checking the picture to make sure he had the right Irken? This far out in the galaxy?

Dib turns the flashlight to the body, crouching down to get a closer look. His nose wrinkles at the awful stench wafting from the embers dying in its mass meeting the puddle it perished in. From how it’s sprawled, back flat, feet-esque appendages to the building, face up, it’s not hard to guess it was shot climbing the building from above. It couldn't have been moments from breaking open his window...

He snaps his head up, searching the top of his building as best he can from five stories down and in the dark. Is it his imagination or does he see movement above, someone observing them with as much intent as Dib puts into finding the unseen assailant? 

“I think there’s competition for your bounty.” Dib remarks, still glued to the edge of the roof. He sees nothing, just straight lines and empty sky.

He shivers, cold with the knowledge that Zim's problems were getting closer and closer to his home. How did they know Zim was here? Was he followed or were they able to remotely track him? It would have to be the PAK. It's annoying but completely normal for Zim to have been too distracted to think about scrambling any signals coming from his brain machine thing.

“They can fight it out amongst themselves if they wish.” Zim says dismissively smug as Dib stands back up, “No matter who tries, no one shall get ZIM!” His fists are to the sky, one clutching the datapad, the other unburdened in its quest to shake violently to nothing. 

A car passes by, its headlights illuminating the alley. Surprised, Zim yelps, clutching the pad closer as he watches the vehicle pass with a wide paranoid gaze. 

“Hey,” Dib steps into his periphery to not startle him before he puts a hand on the alien’s shoulder. Zim still jolts, but does nothing more than stare at the fingers touching him. “You doing alright?”

He’s trembling, nigh imperceptibly, antennae strapped to the top of his head. They flick forward as another car passes by, Zim observing it with some suspicion. The claws not grasping the datapad drift up, and Dib is certain his hand is about to be slapped away, a decade of history giving him that much insight. 

Imagine his surprise when there’s a soft touch to his skin instead, the unusual smoothness of alien fingers laid bare ever so lightly onto his own. They curl, just so, hooking gently in a way that he can’t even feel the razor sharp points. Dib refuses to breathe, to break whatever spell has come over Zim as his antennae twitch this way and that, still warily glaring at the street. 

And then Zim turns, stepping away, slipping from Dib’s fingers, leaving them numb and free to fall lamely to his side. Dib doesn’t move, gaze still on the space Zim had been in.

“Dib-stink!” 

He shuts his eyes, breathes, and opens them again, facing Zim.

“Yeah?”

There are words that he wants to say, phrases half-formed in his throat, on the back of his tongue that have neither letters nor syllables as though something in him refuses to put a language to them.

“Help Zim move the body to this garbage... home!” 

He doesn’t say them. Couldn’t say them, even if he knew what the words were or how they were spoken.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Violence and body horror

_So MANY_ **_eyes._ ** _Those PARASITES. Looking for me. Watching my BASE. I’ve caught them on camera with their grubby hands and blurry...LEGS. GIR found another one DEAD in the garbage holding thingy last week._

_It was veryexcitingforhim._

_I have updated the lawn gnomes' defensive and surveillance capabilities as much as I can with what I have but I’ve run into a new_ **_problem_ ** _regarding my acquisition of more stuff._

 _I HAVE NO_ **_MONEY._ **

_An un_ **_thinkable problem_ ** _when Zim still was in the Invader ranks. I took for GRANTED all that I could have. One order and I had all the_ **_amazing_ ** _weaponry at the tips of my claws._

_And now I have NOTHING._

_Stupid stupid STUPID Control Brains and their ‘_ oh you did a murder but this one was the bad one _’._

_I HATE THEM._

_What could they possibly want with poor Zim? Is my isolation not enough? What horrible_ **_judging_ ** _words will they spew when they see the_ **_things_ ** _that have_ **_grown_ ** _on me?_

 _I may never know. I had_ **_hoped_ ** _that the maggotty dead INSOLENT mercenaries would have landed their ships on the planet, but those_

_IDIOTS_

_Had left them in orbit and with the order that on death, the ship would return to whatever loan_ **_pustule_ ** _that it then belonged to. Very **common** but IRRITATING. _

_Do NONE of these ‘_ mercenaries _’ own their own ships? Do they not realize Zim_ **_requires_ ** _one?_

 _There’s been little headway on the scanning equipment. Every recent simulation has come back with 45% chance of frying my_ **_head_ ** _. Even though the swelling under the PAK has increased and it feels ready to_ **_explode_ ** _into so many tiny wet fragments, I have to be patient. I must hope it does not force me to cut it open before I can_ **_see_ ** _what I’m cutting into._

_Zim could irreparably damage the connectors to the PAK or worse; my squeedlyspooch. And with no ship or contact to the Armada, I’d be left to PERISH under my own haste._

_I’m an_ **_Invader_ ** _not some medical butcher! And any_ **_intelligent_ ** _Irken who_ **_could_ ** _help would be difficult to reach at best... meaning one false **move is DEATH**! _

_Eh..._

_Luckily, the molting has slowed. It seems my growth is reaching a zenith. If I'm doing the measuring ritual correctly, I am now 62 unhelpful Earthen inches tall._

_UNFORTUNATE._

_I WOULD LIKE TO BE TALLER. I will have to be satisfied for the_ **_time BE-ING._ **

_Before I close out this… POINTLESS._

_UPDATE._

_There’s one last thing. One last..._ **_embarrassing...DISGUSTING thing…_ **

_A...split has..._ **_appeared_ ** _between my...legs…_

_And I’m IGNORING IT._

_..._

_...mostly…_

_I did tou- EXAMINE it. It does not seem….dangerous or_ **_infected_ ** _. The slit is shallow, narrow, and something seems to block any further access, though upon touching that_ **_something_ ** _with my claw, things get...wiggly...._

 _I can feel...movement...inside. I took my hand away immediately, but it left me on edge, shivery, wanting for..._ **_something_ ** _. I refuse to probe deeper or_ **_ex-amine_ ** _further. Thankfully, it has been a little over two puny weeks since I last saw the **foul** Dib. The reactions to him before were un **bearable**. _

_I cannot fathom what they would be now. I do not want my hand forced into examining this...ISSUE..._

ANY FURTHER.

_...it does want me to though…_

_I am alone. GIR is doing_ ** _GIR_** **_things._**

_I could…_

_Absolutely not! I’m done with this. Good_ **_bye_ ** _!_

* * *

November. 

It's not the best month. Used to be great; it was one of the only times Membrane would make an effort to come home for the holiday. He hated Christmas, so Thanksgiving was a good middle ground for him and his war on Santa. Now however-

 _dads asking if your coming home for turkey day_ \- Gaz

Dib throws another rock into the man-made pond, hears it plunk into the water, watches it sink into obscurity before picking up another one to repeat the process. He’s being dramatic; he’s fully aware. But something about this shit has him crawling out his skin, has him leaving the apartment, the city, towards the forest like always, like old times, when he’d trail Zim or look for Bigfoot or whatever he used to do. 

He throws the next rock. The outcome will be the same. He’s not trying to skip it. He just wants to hear it hit the water. He wants to see it sink. He wants to not think right now. 

Gaz sent the text yesterday evening. He didn’t have enough time to look at it until this morning before class, and Dib had immediately thumbed a sarcastic 'no' in response, but his finger paused over the send, re-reading the message. 

_dads asking if your coming home for turkey day_

He took his thumb away, gnawing at his lip, the horrific concoction of anger and longing mixing smoothly at the back of his throat. 

_dads asking if your coming home_

He deleted the ‘what the fuck do you think im gunna say’, pressed the home button, locked his phone. He walked out the door to his first class, constantly checking for new messages, yet with no intention of answering any of them. Gir sent a blurry photo of something shiny, Zim blabbered about hating being in the city, and Gaz said nothing more. 

Dib only had the two classes, so by the time 2pm rolled around, he headed back to the apartment as he was free from work for the day, opened his door, saw Zim guiltily poking his cereal boxes, looked at his phone again-

_dads asking_

And walked right back out, destination in mind, and Zim hot on his heels, yelling about his texts being ignored.

“While the destruction of this _horrible_ planet’s insignificant ROCKS is most _amusing_ , Zim would like to know why the Earth monkey has dragged me all the way out here!” Dib sighs, glancing over his shoulder to where Zim is sitting on a grassy slope behind him, arms wrapped around his knees.

“You didn’t have to come with.” The alien is on his feet, claw gesturing in the air.

“And leave you to your nefarious BIDDING?” Dib gives him a look. Zim sits back down from where he had stood up, like all the air had been let out of him. “The base has been boring anyways." He mutters, picking at a blade of grass. "There’s only so many simulations on the scanners Zim can watch before my HEAD caves in.” 

Dib grunts, scanning the pebbles around him, but finding none of sufficient heft and weight. He kicks at them, folds his arms, and stares out over the still water, knowing exactly how melodramatic he looks. 

“It’s not important.” He states with a shrug.

“LIAR!” Zim shouts, back on his feet, finger pointing in an accusatory manner. A rustle of bushes off to the side catches their attention, a black cat zipping back into the treeline at Zim’s outburst. The alien lowers his arm, but sneers nonetheless. “Empty-headed dirt **worms** only come out here when the tallest Membrane does something _annoying_.” 

Dib is quite frankly taken aback. He scrunches his nose. 

“When did you start caring?” Zim hisses, affronted. He waves Dib off.

“Zim does not **care!** You’re…” He taps his claw to his mouth in thought before his eyes alighting with whatever insight he’s found. “PREDICTABLE with your weak **emotions** and the whining! _Oh, the_ **_whining…_ **”

“Alright, Zim-” Dib tries to assuage him, huffing, but once started, Zim is difficult to stop.

“”My name’s Dib and I’m sad because I’m a clone and was made in a tube’.” He mocks, a simulacrum of Dib’s own words slapped back in his face. Dib’s stomach drops, gritting his teeth.

“Zim…” He warns, anger brewing in his gut as Zim continues gesticulating dramatically.

“Why _whine_ about it? All the **good** species moved on to non-sexual reproduction for efficiency better population control. Zim was born in an incubator, like a _normal_ Irken. Why would that bother yo-”

“It's not the same!” There’s rustling in the trees nearby as birds hop and squawk away and Dib realizes he’s shaking, fists clenched and vision going blurry. He scrubs his face, words bubbling out:

“Irkens are made in a tube or whatever. I get that. Humans aren’t like that. I-” He prods himself in the chest, ignoring how flabbergasted his audience is at his outburst “thought I had parents. I thought I had a mom, but it turns out she didn’t even know I existed before she **died** !” He starts pacing, stops, runs hand through his hair, starts again. “And the only reason I was let out of the tube in the first place was to make sure I grew up just like Membrane. To make sure he-" He gestures harshly in the general direction of Membrane labs. "could fucking transfer his conscience to my body in case shit ever hit the fan and he needed his get out of **death free** **_card_ **!”

He clears his throat, aware of how scratchy it's gotten. Zim’s expression is unreadable as he watches Dib warily, but Dib just shakes his head.

“I thought for years my dad was disappointed because I was weird and liked weird stuff and wasn’t pulling the grades as he was or solving global crises like he was. I thought he was mad I was too busy chasing cryptids and ghosts, and learning shitty magic instead of being the next science superstar.

“Turns out, he wasn’t disappointed I didn’t turn out like him, he was disappointed that I wasn’t _him,_ that I was a failed clo-” Dib’s mouth snaps shut. With a start, he realizes the state he’s in, quivering, face hot, eyes wet. He wipes them vigorously with the back of his hand, taking deep shuddering breaths in order to calm the outrage that’s overcome him, that has him wanting to scream, throw things, lie on the ground and cry until he’s nothing but a dried up husk…

It's not the anger that shocks him; that he can understand, that he prefers. It's the genuine grief that grips him, holds him, threatens to overtake him every time he thinks about what happened. Some part of him wants to mourn the person he thought he was, the life he thought he knew, the parents he thought he had, but Dib just wants to forget. He wants to just move on with his life but he just…

Can’t.

“And now he wants to act like nothing ever happened,” Dib continues once he’s pulled himself together enough to form a sentence. “Like we’re still pretending I’m his son, and that we can have family time and...and…” He stops again, the well in him drying up now he’s given himself time to calm down. Now he’s just hollow, miserable. 

He scratches the back of his head, guilt flashing when he realizes Zim is still eyeing him with suspicion, head cocked to the side, like he’s ready for Dib to go off again.

“Fuck, man,” He pushes up his glasses, rubbing his face with his hands before re-orienting them. “I didn’t mean to… I know you don’t care about this shit-” Zim is on the move, quickly covering the space between them. 

He stops just in front of Dib, who notes that there’s barely a foot of difference between them now much to his surprise, and raises a hand. Dib assumes he’s about to get hit, waits for it, but instead, his wrist is being grabbed, pulled toward Zim from where he had held it close to his chest. Zim just glares at it, pushing up the sleeve of his jacket to smooth a thumb over the skin.

“You _humans_ have idiot _useless_ emotions about even more _useless_ things. It’s a **weakness** and I _hate_ it, but-” Zim struggles with what he’s going to say next, snarling and gnashing his pink teeth together, squeezing Dib’s wrist to the precipice of discomfort. “errrr, BUT if Zim doesn’t listen to the Dib’s _whining_ about his family...unit...THING then he gets wibbly and …. MORE annoying.”

Something swells in his chest as he watches Zim fumble with himself on whether or not he’s going to refute what he just said, fingers still softly holding Dib’s wrist. It's endearingly...open the way he shuffles as he adds that ‘Zim might as well cut _Dib_ off before he gets there’.

Dib doesn’t know when exactly he kissed him, or why, just that one moment Zim is starting to babble about how much he really truly does not care; why is the Dib looking at him so dumbly, and the next, his hands have found their way to Zim’s face and Dib is pulling away, mouth tingling and a very heavy sense of ‘bad’ overtaking any enjoyment he may have gotten out of the interaction.

“Eh?” Dib lets go, flushing red as his embarrassment heightens seven degrees at the way Zim is staring at him, wide-eyed and dumbfounded. He steps back once, twice, slapping a hand over his own mouth. 

“Shit! Shit, shit, I didn’t- ‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” Fuck, he’s panicking. He wants to bolt. Zim should be yelling, angry at the violation of his space, his trust. He’s a goddamn alien with no concept of romance or physical affection. What kind of person does that make Dib to cross that line cause he’s a little emotional?

Zim’s not saying anything though, not even moving, just standing there, _staring_ , unfocused while Dib blabbers out some form of apology. He stops, realizing he's not actually being stared at, that Zim's gaze has gone wild, glassy. 

"Zim?"

Thin green fingers reach up, up to Zim's shoulders, reaching to his back, arms beginning to tremble as his claws alight upon them. Zim’s not looking at him any more, head cast down, that chittering noise beginning in the back of his throat as he falls forward onto his knees. Dib steps closer, confused, unsure of what to do. He jumps when Zim lets out a scream, sending birds flying from the trees around them. 

“Zim!” Dib crouches beside him, hand outstretched, ready to assist but unsure of how.

The alien throws his front half to the ground and he cries out, curled in on himself, claws reaching back, back to the bulge under his clothes. Dib watches, frozen and horrified as the clothes begin to shift, ripple in harsh points as though something is trying to _escape_ . The shirt bends, pulled taut and away, shoving into the air as whatever is in there wants out, _out._

“Take it off! Take it off!” Zim’s hands scramble at the shirt, limbs quivering too hard for him to grasp it as whatever underneath stretches the material further. Part of it catches on its confines, ripping through the fabric and unfolding, glistening in the afternoon light before it swings forward, knocking Dib onto his ass.

There, stretching now in the open air as Zim collapses in a heap onto the grass, is a bright green leg, long, thin, still wet from the swollen casing it's been incubating under. It settles between them, bent at one articulation, its foot ending in three little white claws that dig into the dirt as black hairs, similar to the ones on Zim's back, slowly erect from its rapidly drying carapace. 

With a pathetic mewl, Zim lifts his head, eyes bulging in his skull as he lays them on the leg standing proud before him.

“Huh?”

* * *

“That spider leg real?”

Both he and Zim cast a sideways glance at the limb Zim is currently half-hugging to his chest to keep it from jerking about. 

“Uhhhh…” Dib starts, not having planned this far.

“Of course not!” Zim scoffs, clambering into the cab, careful not to bang the leg or his PAK on anything. “We’re merely...making one of your HORRIBLE fictitious science movies.” The cab driver nods, hook, line, and sinker as Dib takes his place next to Zim. 

“Makes sense.” The driver turns away from them to start poking at his severely outdated GPS. “Don’t get any science goo on the seats or there’s an upcharge.”

“Zim would not DREAM of adding any FILTH to these **disgusting. Seats**.” Dib elbows him as the driver narrows his eyes. 

“Sorry about him.” Dib tells him the address, and after a minute of pattering around on his GPS, they're off down the street. 

Zim squirms, unable to truly get comfortable what with his leaking back, still present swelling, and now the fucking long ass leg just kind of hanging out. Dib got a good look at it as they tore off his ruined top to give his back more room to breath. The hardened swelling has nearly doubled in size in the month since he’d last seen it, both across his shoulders and upper back, down to the edge of his pants, and in height off his carapace. 

The rupture where the leg had burst from was oozing a vicious clear fluid that smelled of a metallic musk that filled the cab, enough to where the driver rolled down his windows. Dib had seen, before handing Zim his zip up jacket, more potential limbs shifting within the swelling. As Zim settles, his expression falls somewhere between irritation and discomfort. 

A phone goes off. The driver takes out his cell, answering it in a raucous greeting. Dib waits for him to be properly into his conversation, before-

“Did you know about that?” He whispers harshly, bouncing his leg. It’s barely four, and he’s already tired. Once they get to Zim’s and get the alien sorted out, he’s taking a nap.

He is pretty happy about the distraction, though. Even with all the screaming, and nausea inducing smells, he'll take anything to not _think_ about things right now.

“Eh?” Zim starts, having been leering at the driver in his rear-view mirror. Dib can see the subtle shift under his wig as the antennae attempt to stand at attention.

“The leg, dumbass. Couldn’t you feel it?” Zim blinks at him for a moment longer, red tongue poking out of his mouth in a way that Dib refuses to call cute. 

“Ye-yes?” He says finally, “No? I felt many somethings, but how would Zim know it was a new **leg**?” 

“I dunno! Educated guess?” 

“What kind of educated guess, dirt monkey?” He snaps in a harsh whisper. “Last time Zim checked, it wasn’t common for your filthy species to grow extra legs but if the Dib complains of back pain, I’ll know why.” 

He pokes the clawed end, appearing smug when the talons flex. They aren’t any bigger than the ones on Zim’s fingers; in fact they seem to be thinner, shorter. Dib licks his lips.

“Can you control it?” Zim squints at him before the question clicks. He glances between the leg and the still distracted cab driver. He squints his eyes, brow scrunching, concentrating. Dib leans in, curious before the leg snaps out and smacks him in the face again. 

“Ha!” The driver glares back at them in rear-view, only to roll his eyes at Zim’s answering sneer. He gathers the leg back to his chest, smirking as Dib rubs his bruising nose. “Its movement is involuntary. But it doesn’t seem to like sticky **humans** getting close.” 

“Great.” His eyes have welled up at the sting in the bridge of his nose. “Glad that it's here _defending_ you or whatever instead of trying to kill you.” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Zim pets the limb, shivering when he brushes the ‘hairs’. “It is a good leg. Keeping its master safe from-” Zim’s eyes widen, suddenly pointing at Dib as though it finally just clicked in his head. “You kissed Zim!” Dib’s stomach jumps into his throat, opening his mouth to deflect, but ends up choking on his own spit. He almost forgot. “Why?”

“Look, I-” Dib swallows, “I didn’t- It wasn’t like I...I meant to or anything. It just kinda...happened…” He taps his fingers on his knee, face pink. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth…”

“Yes!” Zim cries, turning away. “As you SHOULD be!” Dib follows suit, cheeks still hot enough to cook an egg, and he settles into watching the traffic fly by.

The rest of the ride is in an awkward silence between the two of them, though as Dib stares out the window, he catches Zim touching his mouth thoughtfully in between grimaces of pain.

* * *

Once they’re out of the cab, Zim having forced them to stop a block away so the driver didn’t know exactly where his base was, despite Dib having already given the guy his address, the Irken has a noticeably hard time making it down the street. 

He keeps stopping, gasping, face pinching in discomfort as he doubles over. His new leg compensates seamlessly, resting on the ground to counterbalance him, though each step it takes only serves to cause Zim more anguish. The carapace is still drying, as it were, rapidly becoming a darker and darker hue.

“There’s more...MOVING…” He spits out, leaning heavily on the arm Dib lends to him. There’s no one on the street or in their yards, thankfully, save for a dark cat sitting on a fence some houses away. “The base… my scanning equipment…” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay, come on then.” He can’t pick Zim up anymore; he’s grown too much and Dib’s not exactly bulging in the upper body strength department. Instead, he acts as a makeshift cane, leading the struggling alien as best he can down the cracked sidewalk.

The usual greeting of lawn gnomes is absent, the oddly well-disguised yard guardians having been knocked over, face down into the yellowing grass. Dib rolls his eyes; Zim has people looking for him, and his first line of defense is once again fallen into disuse. At his side, Zim says nothing beyond the labored panting and sharp grunts of pain inbetween. 

The front door is unlocked, and swings open with ease at Dib’s behest, the interior dark despite the fact that GIR has a habit of keeping the lights on all the time. It's quiet; no TV blaring at the loudest decibel, no robot singing, yelling, cooking, etc in the kitchen, no weird music playing from unseen speakers for an impromptu dance party. GIR must be out or in the lower base. 

“Computer!” Zim shouts, voice echoing strangely in the high-ceilinged living room. Dib closes the door behind them, plunging the room into further dimness, with only the scant amount of sunlight peeking through the drawn curtains on the windows. He leaves Zim hanging on the wall as he flips the lightswitch, the smell of something burnt wafting in the air. “Computer? Answer your **master**!” 

“Lights aren’t working.” Dib mutters, flicking the switch up and down to no avail. Zim growls, making grabby motions at Dib to come help him again. Dib acquiesces, a growing unease permeating in the back of his neck as he takes Zim’s arm again.

It’s fine. He just has to get Zim to the lower levels, get to the auxiliary power switch for the lights. The elevator and underground has their own generators. They'll get down there, find out what GIR has been getting into now, and Zim can yell to his squeedlyspooch's content while they get him fixed.

“That HORRIBLE robot….” Zim snaps, pointing the way to the semi-obscured elevator he installed years ago beside the couch. Dib leads them that way, pausing momentarily when something shimmers at the corner of his eye. There’s nothing there and Zim spurs them on. “Probably TOUCHING all of my...STUFF again. We’ll need to get to the medical lab. Cut out whatever is-” 

Zim stops as they round the couch, his dead weight halting Dib as well. When he sees Zim staring wide-eyed, open mouthed at the floor, Dib looks down. 

It’s GIR, face down, one arm ripped off and discarded, the other reaching toward the elevator panel, a massive chrome spike, as wide at its base as GIR’s whole body, stabbed deep into the robot’s back. His eyes and chest are dim. He’s not moving. 

Zim scrambles to GIR, getting onto his knees, carefully touching the entry point silently and Dib steps back. He's never seen GIR in such a state.

“Jesus Chr-” Dib is hit with what can only be described as an oncoming train, the massive metallic arm all but materializing in his periphery nano-seconds before he’s slammed into the nearby wall. He can’t even yell, the air knocked out of him from the force of the hit and he has to fight to not black out from how hard his head cracked into the surface.

The hulking mass of the shining robot humanoid slips into complete view behind Zim, hand shooting to grab him. The fingers barely make it to the jacket on Zim’s back before his new leg smacks the intruding limb asunder and Zim launches himself over the side of the couch, stunned at his own feat when he lands. 

“Interesting…” The android snidely remarks, eyeing Zim’s leg where it hangs in the air before him defensively, slowly darkening claws flexing. Zim blinks at the intruder dumbly, still processing what just happened. 

“Y-yes!” Zim agrees, straightening awkwardly on the uneven surface of the well worn couch. “Zim is quite _interesti-_ ” 

The robot lunges again, this time easily knocking Zim’s leg aside, and grabbing Zim by the collar of the jacket, yanking him toward the towering intruder. The alien snarls, kicking and stabbing the robot with one of his wrist hooks, the spike embedding itself over and over into the palm that tries to grab him. The robot shakes him, but Zim doesn't relent his fighting.

Quietly as he can, Dib crawls to GIR’s fallen form, murmuring an apology as he yanks the chrome bolt out of his still body. He swiftly stands, bounty hunter and alien still in their glorified slap fight, and he steels himself, gripping the repurposed weapon before charging. 

Dib doesn’t even get close; the robot whipping around with his free hand and grabbing onto Dib’s forearm with an astounding precision. He squeezes, Dib dropping the spike and it clatters to the floor as the pressure and pain flairs higher and higher. Dib grabs the arm, nails scrambling against the smooth surface, the realization of what’s coming hitting him just before the robot clamps down even harder.

The bones splinter, snapping audibly even over Dib’s hoarse scream and the intruder tosses him as effortlessly as a ragdoll once again against the wall. Shaking, Dib slumps over, cradling his useless bleeding limb to his chest as he forces himself to breathe between the white hot pain and all-encompassing nausea that ensues. He can only lay there, snot bubbling from his nose, entire body squirming, pain tolerance built too high to pass out even as he gasps pathetic little huffs of sounds and fights to not vomit over himself. 

There’s a grating, horrible scrape of steel on steel, and Dib struggles to look up from the floor, balking as he sees the robot’s fist pointed at him, a barrel having raised from the shining forearm. Behind him, Dib can see Zim, now topless, crawling away. The intruder doesn’t notice, other hand still holding the limp, unzipped jacket.

“I was gunna leave you alive,” Something rotates into the barrel, a massive chrome spike falling into place. Dib pulls his arm closer, laying on his side, a whispered 'fuck' finding its way out of him as he braces himself. “But I ain’t dealin’ with this shit.” 

He levies his arm and Dib starts to crawl away best he can, gasping when he hears the shot. There’s a yell, not from him, and the crack of a spike lodging itself into the wall. Dib glances over in time to see Zim get thrown off the robot to the floor, one of his wrist hooks broken and sticking out of the chrome shoulder.

“Enough!” The robot shouts, foot coming down on Zim’s arm and new leg, pinning him. He bends over, wrapping his massive fingers around the PAK and digging pointed metal fingers into the edge. “They say they want you alive, unharmed,” The hand on Zim’s PAK tightens, the alien attached flailing, snarling threats, and chittering in pain. “So I’ll just make that easier on myself.”

"No!" Dib shouts, struggling to get on his feet but falling back down as his vision threatens to peter out from another wave of pain. The android yanks, pulling the PAK forcibly off with a sickening squelch as the swelling underneath it is torn away with the device, little bits of carapce and fluid dripping to the floor. Zim's back arches with a muted cry before he falls limp beneath the android’s foot, eyes rolling to the back of his head and head falling limply to the floor.

The room still, no sound save for Dib’s labored breathing. The robot lifts his foot carefully, waiting to see if the Irken moves, but Zim is nothing more than dead weight at this point, and the robot places it on the floor.

“Stupid Irkens.” He tosses the PAK behind him with a clunk and crouches down, starting to grab at Zim’s sides to lift his unconscious body up. “You can have that back in nine min-” 

With a squelch, three more legs shoot out from the opened swelling, freed from the pressure of the PAK and slamming into the chest of the intruder, the force sending the android to the floor. Zim’s back arches again, the limbs shuffling to find footing on the floor and raising him into the air as his head lolls onto his chest, still passed out even as his new legs maneuver him like a puppet on a string. To Dib’s horror, the darkest one, bent slightly from the pressure of the robot's foot, reaches over, blindly grasping onto the discarded spike between its grey claws just as the robot leaps to its feet, whirring in rage.

He charges the quivering stilted Irken, fist raised to knock him down and without hesitation or pretense, two legs meet him. One shoves into his shoulder, knocking his back to the ground while the other stabs the spike deep into center mass, yellow oil spewing out from the wound. The legs and Zim follow him to the floor as the robot shouts, arms getting slammed and held to the rug, while the spike is withdrawn and speared into him again.

It’s plunged into the android’s chest and abdomen, over and over and over, the scream of metal on metal soon overtaken by the wet slopping of oil and snapping of wires. It doesn’t stop; not until Zim finally regains consciousness, eyes opening with a start. 

The legs freeze, the spike falling from the raised one for a final time. Zim falls backwards, limbs giving out under him as he lands on his ass, staring in shock at the mangled unresponsive mess the android has become. His normal legs slide him backwards in an effort to put as much distance between him and the intruder as possible. Once he stops, Zim touches his cheek, grimacing at the yellow fluid that has splattered onto him and is currently leaking all over the rug and the base’s flooring.

“I-” He glances at Dib, expression horrified, darting between the spike embedded into the wall by Dib’s head and the bloody mess of his cradled shattered arm. Dib just half sits, half lays there limply, trying his damndest not to move but each rise and fall of his chest sends white hot flairs of pain down his arm into the rest of him. “What hap-”

There’s gasp, and both he and Zim’s attentions are taken to GIR’s head shooting up from where it lay, his blue eyes bright and shining. 

“My biscuits!” He shouts, hopping up, massive hole still in his back as he squeaks his way over to the kitchen, arms flailing. “My biscuits!” There’s the sound of the oven light button being pushed, metal knees hitting linoleum, and an equally metal fist banging into the appliance’s plastic window. “No! My _biscuits_!” 

The banging and sobbing continue, even as Dib starts to laugh, the pain in his arm and the offended confused expression on Zim’s face only spurring him into a fit. 

“What?” Zim barks, getting to wobbly feet, his new legs swinging awkwardly as Dib starts coughing from the unrestrained giggles that refuse to stop. He’s bleeding all over himself and as he sits up, finally catching his breath only to be sent into another spiral when his head hits the chrome spear lodged into the wall. “What’s so funny, **Dib?** ”

“I-...My arm’s like…. _really_ fucked up, Zim.” He finally says, slumping back onto his side in another fit of giggles, choking on bile as another wave of pure fire emanates from his arm. 

What a fucking day its been.

* * *

_The Dib went with GIR to the bone restructuring machine. I don’t want them to see me in my…_

**_Weakness._ **

_I…_

_I can’t..._

_I can't reattach the PAK._

_There’s a growth, coming from my back where it should go that the legs are attached to. I- I couldn’t see it under the PAK and the swelling… I failed to catch it._

_The connections are no longer there, either._

_They ripped away when that **robot**... _

_No matter what I try, I can’t get it back on._

_It’s been five minutes. I need to... I need..._

* * *

_Seven minutes._

_I don’t feel any... different. Not like when this has happened before. I’m in control of all of my...self. Zim is not weak, not unable to think. My memory is fine._

**_Impossible._ **

* * *

_It’s been ten minutes._

_It’s been more than ten minutes and I-_

_I’m still Zim. I’m…_

_Fine._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Please review updated tags, but I would like to point out specifically very mild dubious consent and circuitous discussion of consent.

Dib barely remembers the elevator ride to the stabby bone machine, and he certainly doesn’t remember hooking himself up to it. He must have though because he faintly recalls Zim dipping out to a different part of the base, leaving GIR to shepherd the broken human to the appropriate pod, and GIR can’t get the complicated set up process right to save his little robot life. He has the faintest recollection of sitting down, laying back, sighing when the first injection of morphine hit him and-

Dib opens his eyes, immediately regretting it when the overwashed white light above blinds him. He blinks blearily, raising his good arm to rub his eyelids and groaning. The machine has stopped, having entered a cooldown period. Seeing how the bones in his forearm were shattered to the point of breaking out of his skin, it would take another go or two on the machine to be fully healed. 

As it stands now, his right arm is a mottled mess of black, blue and yellow, swollen to half its size and wrapped in a clear alien plastic that would keep it straight and set until the machine was ready for him again in…

46 minutes, 32 seconds

31 seconds

30 seconds

Dib rolls over, getting to his unsure feet. His stomach twinges. His throat is parched. There’s a glass of cloudy water and a plate of black biscuits on the tray next to the bed that Dib ignores as he massages his temples. GIR always puts cumin in the water for some fucking reason. He’s not falling for it. 

Again. 

He takes a tentative step, bad arm held close to his chest, and looks around. He’s alone; the generally bare module empty save for a rolling chair, the machine with its glorified dentist chair, and the blank grey walls. It used to be unnerving to wake up alone in Zim’s lower base like this, but, you know…

Time’s change.

He struggles to remember anything after the big fuck off robot man crushed his arm, the only thing coming to mind is pain. Almost dying. Spikes. GIR dead and then not dead...

Zim, shifty, more legs, no PAK-

Dib is sprinting to the elevator before he knows it, going through every swear word he’s ever known and every single one he’s ever not known.

* * *

“Dib!” So he may have shouted extremely loudly when the doors slid open. Can anyone blame him? “You DARE ruin my precious  _ concentration _ ?”

Zim is standing at his worktable, topless, PAK in front of him and tools in hand. His back has been cleaned up, no longer a mess of torn carapace and musky dried fluid. The top most legs are suspended over his shoulders, holding tools or grabbing necessary items that would normally be out of reach while the other two stay folded around a strange growth in place of where the PAK had been. 

It’s...odd: greyish brown, wrinkled with deep, complex rivulets, those black hair thingies sticking out, with the legs connecting directly to it. It’s seemingly out of place considering its very organic appearance in comparison to the PAK but at the same time, it makes sense, fitting so perfectly down the center of his back, its oblong ovular shape nestled seamlessly between his shoulder blades. 

At a loss for anything else to ask, Dib blurts: “Are you okay?”

There’s no frantic energy about Zim, no panicked noises, no twitchy movements. He’s calm despite the lack of his PAK, the lack of his most necessary component on its usual position on his back.

“Eh?” Zim shouts, and Dib steps closer, saying it again. Now just a few feet away, he can see the healing superficial sores on the growth from where the PAK was attached. They’re shallow, little pinpricks of further damage from the wiring that connects directly to Zim’s superorgan dotting within the circular craters. 

“Zim is  _ fine.”  _ He states placatingly, one leg, the one bent from being stepped on, reaching over to the other end of the table to hand him a soldering tool. Its motion is fluid, as though within the few hours Zim has had them, he's already grown familiar with them.

“But the PAK…” Zim shrugs, hand deep into the PAK, the sound of the soldering tool and the subsequent snapping of wires all too loud. He reaches up, grabbing onto some cords directly linked to the base’s main computer and plugging it into something within the device in front of him. “Don’t you nee-?”

The computer lights up, a resounding beep interrupting him as it registers the PAK. Zim types something in, ignoring Dib for the time being. 

“It’s amazing, yes?” Zim finally says, still not  _ looking _ at Dib. “Five hours and I’m... _ fine _ .” His voice cracks as though he’s forcing the word out, and he continues shuffling wiring around, hunching his shoulders forward and letting his antennae lie back across his head.

Dib shakes his head, none this making any sense. He’s read everything he could on Irkens in Zim’s own databanks. The PAK is a secondary brain. It regulates or co-regulates nearly all biological processes from blood detox to short term memory. Hell, it even houses Zim’s obnoxious personality. He knows that from a few unfortunate fist-hand experiences.

“Bullshit.” Dib crouches beside him, trying to meet his eyes. “I know you need that-” He motions to the opened PAK lying dormant and useless in front of them. “To do...anything. How the fuck are you okay?” 

“What I _need_ is for you to not be making...mouth...words at me, _human._ ” He continues staring into the interior of the PAK, tapping along various mechanisms and grunting in disinterest. “Clearly Zim has evolved past needing such **inferior** _handicaps._ ” His voice exudes the usual narcissistic confidence, but how holds his antennae back, how his claws slip on the innards of his PAK, how he refuses to look at Dib...

“You’re a fucking lia-”

“Data retrieval complete.” They both glance up at the huge monitor, its screen showcasing several graphs and red Irken text, but the graphs contain nothing; no lines, no bars, no information. Zim balks, confused.

“Computer! What is THIS supposed to  **mean** ?” The Computer whirrs, highlighting various empty tables on screen.

“Yeah, the PAK hasn’t registered any activity for like three weeks.” 

“How?” Dib asks, incredulously. Next to him, Zim is silent, staring blindly at the PAK in front of him.

“Man, I don’t know.” The Computer whines. “I did the thing. What more do you want?” 

“What activity were you looking for?” 

“Uh...any of it? There’s been no activity in blood detoxing, memory, digestion, hormone regulation...it hasn't been detached, just inactive, I guess.” Dib's mind tries to connect anything, yet nothing coherent comes together.

“How is that possible?” Dib asks, noting how Zim’s fingers curl into the edge of the table with a soft scrape. If a computer could shrug, it’s exactly what the Computer does. 

“That's all I got." Something must not be right, a glitch or something. Zim couldn't live that long without the PAK _doing_ anything, unless something else is keeping him alive. Dib looks again at the growth on his back, harmlessly sitting there, glaringly out of place yet seemingly inconspicuous. 

What exactly grew out of him?

Zim straightens, blinking away the faraway stare, and typing something into the keyboard. He says nothing, makes no snide remarks, no confident diatribes, just...silence.

“Zim,” Dib places a hand on Zim’s upper arm, tone gentle, open. “are you...doing...okay?” 

“Perfectly, **Dib**.” His assurance is hollow, and he tries to shake Dib’s touch.

“Okay, great, you’re fine.” Dib tightens his grip at Zim’s continued attempts to get him off. “But I think you need to at least talk about this, run some tests. We can figure this ou-” Zim finally, finally looks at him, eyes twinkling with a barely restrained irritation and matching Dib’s worried gaze with an equally annoyed one. 

“I’m alive.” He states with an air of finality. He curls his lip, pulls his arm out of Dib’s grasp. “The PAK is useless, but Zim feels better than ever. What more is there to _talk_ about?”

They keep their eyes locked, both waiting for the other to break. Zim is worried. Dib knows this, not in the way he’s glaring, but in his demeanor, his lack of bombast, his even, threatening tone. Dib knows the road this leads Zim, knows he can cut him off before he’s trying to burn himself in the shower again. If he would just admit it…

Dib breaks first, mouth pursed and nostrils flared. Zim tracks him as he steps back, antennae at attention as if expecting Dib to come back swinging. 

“Fine.” Dib starts, giving up for the time being. “Fine. Alright, look, I’m gunna go...find something not burnt to eat and get hooked back into the bone thingy,” He reaches out a final time, squeezing Zim’s bare shoulder and pulling his hand away when the alien tenses. “You know where to find me when **you** want to start talking.”

He turns away towards the entrance behind them, hoping to God GIR has something in the fridge other than half eaten potatoes and a screwdriver, when he is halted by a tugging on his t-shirt. He glances at the cuff, mildly taken aback to see the black claws of the bent leg just barely curled into the fabric. He didn’t even hear it move. 

Zim says nothing, arms straight, palms pressed flat to the table, head down facing away from him. The leg does not pull Dib back, or even move at all for a solid few seconds, just holds him there. The claws flex, a soft non-committal tug. Unsure, Dib reaches across himself, lightly brushing the smooth hard exterior, and letting his fingers alight upon one claw and squeezing it gently. 

It lets go, slipping easily through his grip, and folding back to Zim without a sound who resumes his typing. Dib leaves, each step echoing suffocatingly until the door has closed behind him.

* * *

_ I had the computer run the scan now that the PAK is no longer an obstacle. The results were... _

_ **Disturbing.** _

_ This growth is...deep. **Too** deep to touch. It’s... coming from my **squeedlyspooch**. It has to be keeping me alive, this **parasite** **.** Even if I could survive just cutting it out, there’s only the slimmest possibility of coming away with my ORGAN undamaged. And there's no telling if I could even re-attach the PAK in time. _

_ I’ll keep this from Dib. He’s  _ **_annoying._ ** _ With his… _

_ EMOTIONS.  _

_ Why why  _ **_why_ ** _ does he  _ **_worry_ ** _ about Zim? ITS NONE OF HIS BUSINESS. He speaks idiot words infused with his infectious  _ **_feelings_ ** _. Makes ME feel things.  _ **_Think things._ **

_ So many awful thinking things.  _

_ Is this what those FOOLS meant when they called me, ME, defective? Did they  _ **_know_ ** _ this would happen? That Zim would lose EVERYTHING. Even the one thing that made me Irken? What even am I **now?** _

_ Er, I don’t WANT to have these... _ **_thoughts._ ** _ They make me feel... **HORRIBLE** _ _. Zim gave no permission for this. _

_ I will not ALLOW IT.  _

_ I need distraction. Keep the thinkies away. I would gut the USELESS PAK for it’s more… _

_ Useful components, but Computer is still harvesting its  _ **_delicious data_ ** _ …  _

_ I will need another form of distraction. Preferably one that makes this  _

_ AWFUL.  _

_ WRIGGLING- _

_ Stop in the useless split thing between my legs. _

_ Hmm.  _

_ Yes, I have such an avenue for distraction. _

_ Computer- _

“Can I work for FIVE SECONDS-”

_ Where is Dib? _

“Uh, getting his... bones... fixed?” 

**_Excellent._ ** _ Inform me of when the procedure is complete. _

* * *

Another four hours go by, Dib fading in and out the entire time. It's a testament to how much time he’s spent on Zim’s machines that honestly he just naps through most of it now, unless of course there’s a probe in his back. But getting his bones remade? Puts him to sleep. 

Which is a nice trade-off, because if he hadn’t been dozing, he’d have spent the entire time anxiously fuming at Zim.

He’s feeling alright now though; ate some pizza GIR had ordered with a surprisingly normal yet unusual combination of ingredients, got an ominous warning from his boss after he texted her he isn’t coming in today, and Gaz has yet to respond to his idea of just having a sibling Thanksgiving. But then again, it's about five in the morning, so he isn't expecting a confirmation for at least another 5 hours. 

Dib wills himself to move, the idea of going upstairs and napping on the couch until he can catch a bus home sounding sweeter and sweeter as the hard surface of the examination chair becomes more and more irritating. With a tremendous effort, he even starts to get up when the faint rumble of the elevator catches his attention. There’s a good chance it's GIR, come to inform him of ‘extremely early breakfast’, but just in case it’s not...

“Is the puny Dib-beast’s arm better?” Dib looks up from his phone that he pulled out in an attempt to appear surprised. Zim slowly approaches, chest now clad in something tight, black, and plain. Whatever the material is, it allows the hairs on Zim's back to shift through comfortably. It must also have a hole in it for the weird growth and his new legs which are folded behind him, just barely visible from the front. 

Zim looks… good. Better than he has. He’s a healthy, for him, shade of green again, the flaking having mostly ceased. His proportions have evened out as well; while his arms and fingers have increased in length, they actually fit with his broader shoulders and long torso. It's more obvious now why he walks with a slight hunch as the new weight on his back is working against him but it doesn’t seem unnatural. 

It irks Dib how much he likes the look of him now, how much he enjoys the way Zim stalks toward him with a purpose. 

Recalling the question with a jolt, Dib shakes his right arm, still pink and raw from the treatment, still mostly numb, but it’s back to being in one piece. It’ll take a few more weeks for it to be completely normal again, but he’s got a functioning arm in the meantime that doesn’t make him want to vomit every time he accidentally smacks it into something. 

“Yeah, just kind of fucking around before I go pass out on your couch.” There’s a kink in his neck from how he’s been napping with his head on his shoulder. With a yawn, he stretches, tossing his head from side to side, arms over his head, rolling his shoulders to pop the tightness in his back.

Zim’s staring at him, gaze roaming up and down, face unreadable. Dib finishes stretching, letting his crossed hands rest on top of his head as he raises an eyebrow at Zim who has come to a stop a few feet away. 

“What?” There’s something in the way Zim is looking at him, jawline set tight, expression narrow, frustrated. His fingers are twitching at his side and his antennae are cocked, one up, one down, like he’s thinking about doing something. 

“You gunna talk to me about everything, yet?” He tries to break the weird tension that’s settled between them, but Zim remains steadfast in his contemplative silence.

He guesses not.

Rolling his eyes, Dib sits up, being careful with his freshly healed arm and swinging his legs over to face Zim who blinks and glances away as Dib’s shirt falls back over the bottom of his stomach. Dib’s acutely aware of the knot in his gut, of the ever so accelerated beating in his chest. Something is off, but he can't quite put his finger on it.

Zim seems to steel himself, clearing his throat as Dib starts to stand.

“Dib?” He pauses, brow knitted, and he sits back down.

“Yeah?” Zim steps closer, tentatively, coming to just the edge of Dib’s knees. 

“Can Zim...try something?” That’s enough to make Dib suspicious, keenly aware of how the Irken is shifting from side to side. Dib knows he won’t get anything out of Zim just yet, so he decides to play along. Might as well see what Zim is willing to do right now.

“Like what?” 

“Lie back down.” Dib gives him a look, raising an eyebrow, but does as he is told, settling back on the somewhat uncomfortably hard surface of the reclined examination chair. Zim watches with some trepidation, antennae restless, and waiting for Dib to gesture at him when he’s in position. 

Without a word, Zim moves, hopping up onto the table and swinging his leg over Dib’s prone form to settle on his knees over him. There’s a curious determination about him, almost unsure yet exuding confidence. To say Dib’s heart stops for a moment is an understatement. He starts to sit up, arms reaching out to Zim.

“Hey-” But Zim puts a hand on his chest, pushing him back to the seat. His top most legs grab onto Dib’s wrists, gently yet without room for question, placing them back above his head. Zim sits back, fingers spread across Dib’s chest, head to the side, observing him and it’s here Dib finally connects the dots what the frustrated heated way Zim’s looking at him means. 

“Uh, Zim…” He can already feel the blood rising to his cheeks, heat trickling down his spine into his lower half. He wasn't expecting anything like this.

His breathing picks up, harsh in his own ears, and he watches as Zim smooths his palm down his chest, ending at where his shirt had ridden up. His stomach jumps when a claw traces the exposed skin, the sharp point, tickling, teasing along his abdomen, and he can’t tell if he wants Zim to stop, to talk, or press harder. It doesn’t matter, because without preamble or forewarning, Zim's gaze narrows as he grabs the edge of his shirt and pulls it hard up and over Dib's chest to his neck. 

“Woah, woah, woah, hey-!” There was a hand on his chest again, warm and inviting, but Zim pulls back, blinking in bemusement. For a moment, the only sound is his heartbeat pounding away in his own ears.

“Does this not….affect you?” Dib’s blush deepens, called out. There's too much noise in his head. He can't think like this.

What?

_What?_

“Are you  _ trying _ to?” His voice is panicked, high. The alien on top of him appears even more taken aback. If Zim could blush, Dib is certain he would be. He must just be fucking around, following some random thought that's popped into his green little head. Dib sighs, partially to regain control over his racing thoughts. “Can I... have my hands back?” 

For a moment, Zim just freezes, staring at Dib hard, sitting back fully, directly on his crotch. Then he brings his hand up, biting his upper lip and tapping at his weird pink teeth, a perfect simulacrum of pretending to think about the question at hand. Any sense of him playing this by ear vanishes in an instant. Dib’s hope for being let up is dashed against the rocks. 

“No.” He finally says with a sneer. He places his claws back over Dib’s exposed chest, letting one of them rake over a hardened nipple. He grins when Dib curses in shock, doing it again. “Answer the questions, meat...boy.” 

“Fuck, fine! Yeah, it does.” What has gotten into him?

“Hmm.” He rubs his thumb against the other nipple, before pinching it harshly. “In what way?” 

“How the fuck do you think?” Dib snaps, hissing when Zim rakes down his chest, leaving long thin angry red lines on his pale skin. His dick throbs, the traitor. He closes his eyes when Zim does it again, and again, seeming to enjoy how Dib squirms and bucks under him. 

Zim moves with him, nearly knocking him dumb with a slow experimental grind against the growing interest under him. Zim doesn’t notice what he’s doing, instead leaning down to examine Dib's twisted expression. His antennae flutter against his chin as a claw traces his jutting hipbone and Dib might actually die from it.

“Is it the activity or Zim?” He asks, too close for comfort, too close to not notice Dib’s pulse racing. What the  **_fuck_ ** is he doing? 

“Uh…” Dib’s only ever been in situations like this with Zim. The few sexual encounters in his life have been vanilla to shit and fleeting; a handjob or two, a blowjob. If he’s honest, he’s really only gotten off to fantasy about this specific scenario with Zim…

But he’s not telling Zim that. His ego would swell to the size of the moon. 

“Does it matter?” Zim rolls his hips again, catching Dib directly against his dick, pulling a sharp choked groan from him.

“Eh?” Zim straightens up, blinking down at where he’s sat. He moves his head to the side, one antenna up, the other down. “What do you do after your **useless** organs get. _..weird?”_

“You were in my Health class! What do you think?” That actually gets Zim thinking, as if suddenly remembering all the time he spent snidely complaining about ‘nasty stupid human reproduction’. He comes to a decision silently with a soft 'hm'.

Without a word, Zim shuffles down, fingers deftly unbuttoning Dib jeans.

“Woah, no. No, no, stop-” Dib starts, even as heat flares in his gut at the thought. Zim's fingers pause on his zipper and he lifts his head, leering.

“You think Zim cares for your **protests**?” Even still, Zim has stopped begrudgingly. Dib’s face has to be bright enough to light up a a whole fucking continent, mind muddled, but knowing he’s not going to let Zim cut his dick off or whatever he’s planning. 

“Yeah," He starts, kicking a foot out. He wants to close his thighs tighter, but the way Zim is sitting on him makes it impossible. "depending on what the fuck you’re up to, you’d better listen to my protests!” Zim leans back, affronted, upper lip twisted. Dib tries to get his hands out, but the legs pinning him down refuse to relinquish him. 

“Or?” Dib frowns; isn’t it obvious?

“Or I’m not comin' round anymore!” He shouts, louder than he means to, the last syllable banging around the mostly empty chamber. Apparently, it wasn’t clear given how Zim is looking at him, confusion written in his forehead. 

He takes one hand away, scratching at the few thick hairs on the back of his neck, muttering and spitting Zim noises to himself. Dib waits, muscles tense, as he has nothing else he can do, the heavy beat in his chest finally slowing now that Zim’s giving him a second to breathe.

“I... would…” He fights whatever words are coming up, “to  **view** your...FILTHY... reproductive  _ parts _ .” He finally sputters, staring at the floor to his left. Dib is certain his eyes might bulge out of his skull if his brain doesn’t just fry from the request alone.

“Why?” He asks, squinting in suspicion. Zim snarls, pushing Dib's wrists harder into the chair.

“It’s none of  **your BUSINESS!** ” Dib rolls his eyes harder than he’s ever done. It expressly is his business if its his cock on the line, but he understands what Zim means. Even with the show of force, he’s confident Zim would let him up if he just asked. With Zim waiting for an answer, and curiosity tinging his decision:

“Fine.” He relaxes, looking up at the thick heavy wires that make up the ceiling and hoping he won’t regret his words. “Just don’t hurt it, alright?”

“ **Yes** .” Zim says smugly, clearly proud of himself as he takes the zip down. However much his interest had flagged in the interim is almost immediately reversed the moment claws brush the band of his boxers. “Zim will be careful with your  _ sensitive organs _ .” 

“Please don’t call my dick that.” Zim looks like he’s about to snap back, but whatever witty words he had die in his mouth as he yanks the underwear down. 

His dick isn’t exactly hard yet, though it's throbbing with random spikes of arousal, especially so with the shame building in Dib as Zim continues to stare at his crotch. Curiously, the alien runs a claw down the center of his penis, letting it just barely scratch at the tip. Dib gasps, not expecting the ticklish sensation.

Zim glances up at him, smirking when Dib reluctantly nods.

He continues to poke and prod at him, examining his dick from every angle. He places his two fingers on on either side of it, squeezing gently and rubbing them down the length. Zim seems to take great personal pleasure at the soft noise Dib makes, doing the motion again. It doesn’t take long for him to get hard, not when he hasn't had another person's hand on him in ages and especially not when Dib’s head starts flashing every guilty late-night fantasy he’s ever had about this. 

Fuck, he’d give anything to have Zim’s tongue around him, to have him do anything more than these soft barely there ministrations. His cock leaks at that, Zim taking note and wiping the precome away with an air of disgust. He says as much, voice thick in a way that sends shivers down Dib’ spine as he wipes his fingers on Dib stomach.

“Are you happy yet?” Dib whine, the last threads of his sanity being tested by the way Zim’s started to grind slowly on his leg again. Does he even realize he’s doing it? His face is contemplative, still watching Dib’s dick twitch needily against his stomach at every teasing stroke of a claw or rub of a knuckle, but it morphs at every slow slide of hips. 

“Hm?” Zim looks away from Dib to himself, starting to cotton on to what he’s doing. Instead of stopping, he does it again, mouth opening in a sigh as he presses down harder. And again. And again, Dib mesmerized by the display before him. “What is-?”

Zim doubles over, crying out and hand flying to his crotch, face a mask of confusion. Worry flashes through the haze of arousal, Dib struggling to do anything more than just lay there. Zim sits up, pushing himself off Dib with his knees to hover a few inches over him, scrambling at his waistband, hissing. 

“Are you-” Zim shoves his pants down, eyes boggling when something thick and wet flops out. Dib can only imagine their expressions mirror each other. “When did you grow  _ that? _ ” 

Okay. 

Okay.

Zim’s got an internal penis. That’s now, at this moment...an  _ external one _ , that he certainly didn’t have before all this started. It's pale pink, thick at its base and gradually tapering to a smaller tip that’s leaking a small amount of slick fluid onto Dib’s stomach. He can’t tell the exact length, considering it's coming out of Zim, but it’s certainly enough to be dangerous considering it’s tip stops just below Dib’s when Zim settles back down on top of him.

“Right...now?” Zim is just as surprised as he is, reaching down to run a finger over the length and snatching his hand away when the dick wriggles in response. Self-motivated, it writhes against Dib’s stomach, Zim’s sighing as he moves in a shaky thrust with it, brow knitted in hesitation and concentration. 

“Holy shit.” If Dib wasn’t 100% on board with what was happening before, he is right now as Zim’s dick presses itself against his own, its smooth soft surface rubbing deliciously against him.

“Not that I’m... _ enjoying _ myself… but what do I need to...do?” Zim asks after a moment of unsure movement, still gingerly touching his dick.

“You’re asking me this  _ now? _ ” The high-pitched disbelief is back in his voice and Zim glowers at him. 

“Zim didn’t- hasn’t had a... a  **thing** ,” He gestures at the penis that is currently slowly writhing against Dib’s own. Not the whole bit, just the top third seems to have its own rudimentary motor control. “all of my  _ amazing _ life! When would I have the need to know, worm-boy?” 

Dib sniffs at the name, but his general annoyance is washed away quickly given the current distraction on top of him. 

“Are you including me in this... activity?” He asks slyly, just to be sure. Zim sneers, sinking his claws into Dib’s stomach enough to break the skin. Dib hisses, both from the pain and the way his pulse throbs in his dick. Zim doesn’t seem to notice.

“If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be  _ here _ , would you?” He rolls his hips again, the unsatisfactory friction still making Dib’s eyelids flutter as he bites back a groan. 

“Just…fuck, put one of your hands around us-” 

Zim follows his words, rearranging himself so his penis atop Dib’s. He’s careful with it, almost frightened it might bite him. As he wraps his fingers around the both of them, they both huff in some form of relief, Zim moreso, unused to the sensation of even having a dick. More fluid dribbles from the flat tip over his fingers, and Dib watches it as if in a trance, licking his lips. 

“Just-” Without provocation, Zim starts moving, his hips, his hand, pulling a warm noise from Dib. “Yeah, yeah, like that.” He can’t stop watching; Zim dick pressed eagerly into his, those thin fingers working them over as they grind into each other with stilted breaths and choked moans.

"Fuck..." He loses himself to it, orgasm building and building embarrassingly quickly as he struggles against the hold on his arms, bucks against weight across his legs. He wants his hands back, wants his fingers to join Zim’s grip them harder, rougher. The smooth glide of whatever Zim is leaking lends less to how Dib handles himself, but he can swear he can feel the alien's dick swelling further, feel ridges and bumps taking form as it stiffens in response to its owner’s ever desperate movements. 

Even as he watches, he can't stop thinking, can't stop picturing. He wants Zim on his chest, fucking into his eager mouth until he can’t breath. He wants to be on his front, head shoved to the hard surface beneath him, Zim pressing into him again and again until he screams himself hoarse. He wants, oh, fuck, does he want-

How must he look: held down against an examination table, legs spread wantonly to the fucking alien whose spent the better part of a decade trying to kill him, who could kill him even now, easily as Dib hopes and prays that someday his new dick will end up inside him. His own cock leaks hungrily at the thought, and he nearly loses it then. 

With a hiss, Zim falls forward, leaning on his arm by Dib’s head as he swiftens his other hand, face finding its way to Dib’s neck. He leans his head away, almost instinctively, invitingly. He might be begging, pleading, he can’t tell. He lost all semblance of what his mouth was doing a while ago.

Teeth sink into the proffered flesh, breaking it, and Dib comes with a shout, echoing in the room as he helplessly spills over Zim’s fingers and onto his stomach. It's too much, not enough, and he pants with little mewls of pleasure that morph into a moan when the teeth at his neck bite harder, Zim following him over.

Zim lets go of his neck, face still smashed into him, panting wetly, and they stay like that for a moment; breathing, quivering.

* * *

His chest is a fucking mess, red lines raised, little beads of blood coagulated here and there. Wearing anything is going to suck for a good while but it's nowhere near as bad as his neck, as far as he can tell in his phone’s camera, He’ll have to start wearing scarves early for a good week or two to avoid the questions that mark is going to raise. 

Does he even own a scarf?

Zim keeps glaring at him out of the corner of his eye, plucking at the dark stain on his shirt. He had hopped off Dib like he’d been burned once he collected himself, hissing and sputtering and gesturing while the human took a few more minutes to calm down. Dib would be sure the alien was a step away from thrashing him if his antennae weren’t oddly loose, almost down to his neck.

“Are we going to talk about this or-” Oh, there they go, back at an irate attention.

“Absolutely not,  _ human _ .” Zim turns, marching toward the exit, Dib hot on his heels as he zips up his jeans. He catches up, just as they reach the elevator, Zim pressing the main floor button and sending them into an awkward silence as they begin their ascent. 

“We’re going to have to eventually." Dib starts after a minute. "You’re not off the hook just because of… all that.” Zim sniffs, staring at the opposite wall, clearly miffed. Dib rubs the back of his neck, unable to stop the next question from tumbling out. “Are we gunna... do that again, though?” 

A leg catches him on the shoulder, shoving him into the elevator wall just as the machine comes to a halt, doors opening. Dib lets it happen, knowing he kind of deserves it at this moment after that question. Zim’s eyes narrow, sizing him up, muscle in the side of his mouth twitching, before letting him go and stomping out of the elevator.

“Maybe.” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: None. Wowsers.

Three days go by and to say he regrets his and Zim's dry humping session is an understatement.

After maybe a day, Dib stops grinning to himself like an idiot whenever the stray memory comes back to mind. After two days, and only barest responses from Zim in regards to checkup texts, the novelty wears off completely. By day three, he’s considering breaking into Membrane Labs to find the abandoned time machine project and see if he can go back and convince himself to shove Zim off him when he had the chance. 

They shouldn’t have done that. Dib shouldn’t have done that. He should’ve stopped them, told Zim to figure out his own shit instead of using Dib like a glorified sex toy, which is a thought he shouldn’t find as compelling as he does. 

What was he thinking?

He wasn’t, is the plain answer he keeps coming back to. Too caught up in the moment, too excited to have Zi- someone’s hands on him, too distracted by his own wants to think about why a previously sexless alien might be grinding up on him after discovering he’s got four extra legs and a new brain or whatever.

He taps the eraser of mechanical pencil swiftly against his notebook, the quiet thwack too loud in the library. The guy sitting across from him glares his way, and Dib stops his nervous fingers and mouths a guilty ‘sorry’. He looks back down at his notes, bouncing his leg. He checks the time on his phone and realizes with resigned weariness that he hasn’t gotten anything done in the fifty minutes he’s been sitting here. 

Dib packs up, shoving books and papers back into his pack with reckless abandon, knowing he’ll regret all the crumpled notes at the bottom when he gets home. He can’t be here anymore; his focus is shot, his head stuck somewhere between horny as hell and anxiously pissed off at himself for it. He stands up, swings his backpack onto his shoulders, and walks out quiet as he can much to the relief of the guy across the table. 

He’s got to meet Gaz for lunch soon anyways. What's a few minutes sitting awkwardly in a booth, fuming to himself alone in a restaurant any different than doing so in the library?

He tiptoes past the shelves and students, nodding at the librarian at the front desk as he takes his phone out of his pocket, gut sinking when he sees no new messages. He opens up the last conversation with Zim, seeing nothing more than the FINE he received after asking how he was doing. 

He could text him again, try and needle more information out of him. He starts to thumb another question, but stops, knowing he’d only get more vague nonsense. He should've stayed at Zim's a bit longer after all that happened, should've needled more out of the Irken about his new...features before he awkwardly left. He could call Zim, just to hear he’s actually doing fine and not wallowing in self-pity or despair.

Because of his PAK and the leg thing, obviously. Not because of the...other stuff. 

Dib puts his phone back into his pocket, no messages sent, no calls made, wanting to smack himself for how needy it feels. He doesn’t even know what he wants Zim to say, what he needs to hear. Just something, anything about what happened between them to know where they stand **now.**

Fuck, he doesn’t even know where they stood before everything decided to become complicated, let alone after...

As he steps out of the library, a poster stops him on the bulletin board on the wall opposite the entrance. He must not have noticed it coming in. Professor Membrane waves at him, a weird ostentatious presentation made out of cardboard and paper that genuinely moves its arm back and forth with a soft click. Underneath the diorama is a little pocket for white appointment cards, and next to that in big bold letters:

PROFESSOR MEMBRANE. DECEMBER 5TH. 6P.M. LECTURE HALL 2-B.

Thoroughly distracted, Dib contemplates tearing it off the board for a good minute, but kicks himself for such a childish thought. Who would that help other than assisting in looking even more like an isolated weirdo?

Dib taps him foot, unable to tear his eyes from the friendly, overused visage of his cre- father waving stiltedly. Did he plan this on purpose? He does college lectures all the damn time, but at a local university? He usually goes out of state for this shit, or at least he did the whole fucking time Dib was growing up. 

He has to know Dib goes to school here. He’s never lectured while Dib was enrolled, though. Is this because of Thanksgiving?

“You going?” Dib nearly jumps out of his skin, the young woman he’s never seen before comes to a halt next to him and reaches over to grab a card. He looks back at the poster, and, in an effort to not seem as strange for just standing in a hallway, glaring silently at a picture of the world’s most famous scientist, he grabs a card as well and sighs.

“I dunno.” 

* * *

_The future is bright for Zim._

_The mercenary has been gutted for all his_ **_delicious_ ** _parts. A few cycles out of date, but retrofitted with a state-of-the-art camouflaging apparatus and new tracking tech; this sad PITIFUL attempt at taking_ **_Zim_ ** _from my, MY, base, has some worth to it outside of DISRUPTING my **life**. _

_It should be noted though, even after everything it **did** , perhaps Zim should thank the useless robot. _

_Zim has…_

_Never felt better._

_With the shedding complete and the legs out, my body is more capable than ever._

_I can reach SO MANY THINGS NOW._

_And these legs!_ **_Oh, these legs._ ** _They’re strong. Stronger than the PAK legs. Able to move and lift more than my woefully INADEQUATE arms can. Climb better too. I am now capable of so many things…_

 _So many_ **_glorious things._ **

_The unfortunate trade-off, of_ **_course_ ** _, is that I can now feel every HORRIBLE inch of these new limbs, whereas the PAK legs were_ **_amazingly_ ** _unfeeling. The ends of these ones feel EVERYTHING._

_WHETHER I WOULD LIKE TO OR NOT._

_It is no surprise, with my indomitable_ **_genius_ ** _, I was able to learn how to control them so quickly. While I still have RARE moments where my control lapses, I have more less perfected using my superior legs. To think anyone could doubt me._

**_Do not doubt ZIM!_ **

_There is no more aching, no more pain, no more itching, no more bad...ness. Zim is free from the curse that inflicted my BODY._

_AND I AM BETTER FOR **IT**. _

_On top of this, There’s much less noise. In my…_

_HEAD._

_Was it the PAK? Did this noise stop when it was removed from me, or earlier, whenever this growth took over anatomical regulation? I don’t hear anything in my head anymore other than...me. I didn’t even notice there was noise until I could no longer hear it._

_I feel more disconnected from Irk than ever yet that empty...WIBBLY feeling is all but gone._

_I should be worried but...its difficult to muster. Zim is purposeless, unwanted, yet I am unbothered._

**Amazing.**

_In the meantime, in order to distract myself from certain other...THINGS, I have been putting my **brilliance** to work on a device to reuse the PAK tools in order to mitigate any losses from its **obsolescence.** I will not be HINDERED by something as small as no longer having the PAK on my body. _

_It is a good distraction; a good use use of time, keeping Zim from THINKING about that...EVENT._

_Hm._

_The..._ **_thing_ ** _that happened with Dib…_

 _As debasing,_ **_disgusting, HORRIBLE_ ** _as it was-_

 _I..._ **_wouldliketodoitagain._ **

_Having the stink-beast under me, in that way...he gets._

_ENJOYABLE._

_Eh, if only for my..._ **_domination_ ** _over the Dib…_

_Yes._

_That._

_And only that._

_It has nothing to do the wiggle thing that came out of me, nor the_ **_noises_ ** _he made or the way he...LOOKED… or...FELT… or that Zim can’t make the...the...THING come out again..._

**_Nothing to do with any of that._ **

_DO NOT QUESTION_ **_ZIM._ **

_This sex thing… it is distracting for the_ **_filthy_ ** _humans. Keeps them...happy. Quiet._ **_Loyal_ ** _. As much as Dib is more advanced than the rest of his species, this is true for him as well._

_He was...pleased afterwards._

_As much as it pains me to do so, I will endeavor to conduct more...EXPERIMENTS._

_YES._

_Purely._ Scientific _._ **_Experiments._ **

_I will have to tread carefully, however. I have not been_ **_forced_ ** _to watch all of GIR’s favorite_ **_horrible_ ** _programming to not know that the sex activity is messy and_ **_emotional_ ** _for the humans. Zim has already almost chased the dirt-worm away. I cannot let this happen._

_He is a good test monkey. And he buys many snacks. I REQUIRE HIS LOYALTY._

_Hmm._

_Zim is beginning to realize why the Irken form is without such inferior,_ **_distracting_ ** _, genitalia._

_Enough log time. There is WORK to be DONE._

* * *

“Mem- dad’s doing a lecture at my school in a month.” It gets Gaz to look up from her phone, just enough to side-eye him wearily. 

“Really?” They’re in a diner today, in the back away from the four other eating parties. The server mostly ignores them; Gaz’s frown and disinterest loud enough to tell him this isn’t the table to shoot the shit with on a Wednesday at 2p.m.

Dib nods, rolling his half-full glass of water between his hands, watching blindly as the water swirls with his motions, ice clinking pleasantly. 

“Did you know?” He absently-mindedly wipes a damp hand on the scarf around his neck, even lightest brush of the harsh frabric making the bruise underneath sting. Gaz scoffs. 

“Oh yeah,” She goes back to her game, rolling her eyes. “I’ve got a side gig as dad’s secretary. Sorry for not informing you of his every move.” The server drops off their food with the usual convincing faux cheeriness of an afternoon shift food service worker. Dib can’t tell if he’s even hungry right now despite being ravenous while leaving the library. “You gunna go watch him?”

He stuffs some pasta in his mouth so he doesn’t have to verbally answer, shrugging. Gaz makes an annoyed sound around her fries. 

“You're so dramatic. It's not like you have to go see him." She puts her phone down to really dig in to her food.

Dib nods, moving his pasta around. She's correct; no one is forcing him to even see his dad. His last class ends that day at 5. He could be long gone before Membrane even shows up. Its the idea, he supposes, though he doesn't voice it to Gaz, that he could see his dad, could talk to him, could-

Some part of him wants to see his dad. Another part of him wants to beat the shit out of him. Most of him doesn't know what the fuck he wants.

"Is your dumb alien still growing?” Gaz asks, breaking the silence. 

“He’s not my alien.” Dib grumbles, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “And no, he’s stopped for the moment.” 

“Still freaking out about it?” 

“I dunno.” He sits back, scratching his neck under the scarf. Gaz is looking him over, gaze narrowed. “He's being Zim and not talking about it.”

“Mm…" Gaz gives him one final once over before nodding at him. "What happened to your arm?” Dib looks down at his arm. His fidgeting has made the sleeve of his shirt ride up, revealing the swollen mottled mess his arm has settled into in the preceding days since being broken and then fixed. He swallows his pasta hard, unable to latch onto a good excuse.

“I, uh…” When they were kids and teens, injuries were easy to explain. Got in a fight with a school asshole. Was chasing Zim. Did wrestle a mothman. It's been a fair few years since any of those excuses have been needed. Or acceptable. “Got in a fight.”

“Because of Zim?” Gaz is in that kind of mood, bored of his simpering about dad issues. She's not going to let it go until she's either pissed or satisfied he's healthy and living mostly normal. 

He notes the phrasing. Not fighting with Zim. Because of Zim. Why is his sister so fucking astute?

“N-no…?” His cheeks are turning pink, his lie falling flat.

“Is that why you’re wearing a scarf?”

“No, I just wanted to.” She raises an eyebrow. 

“Sure. Take it off then.” Dib wrinkles his nose, floundering as his face burns. 

“I don’t have to give into your _demands_.” He shoots back, leaning away when she starts to reach across the table. 

"Cool, then I’ll just assume he installed some kinda Dib-control bullshit," She says coolly and he swears the room starts to darken. "And I can finally have an excuse to send him into a spiral of misery and pain with which _he'll never recover_ **_from_**.” She starts to stand, light returning to the restaurant as she begins typing into her phone. "What's his address again?" 

Dib groans, knowing that taking a chance on Gaz's bluff will always end in him getting screwed over. She's already starting to do the weird reality-bending shit. 

“Fuck, fine. Just-” He pulls the scarf up, just enough to show the very dark, very dirty mark on his neck before Gaz’s eyes almost pops out of their sockets as she slumps back into her seat.

“Jesus, Dib!” He shushes her as the server at the bar looks their way in concern, putting the scarf back in place. 

“You don’t need to fucking shout-”

“That looks like someone tried to give you a hickey and ended up trying to tear your neck off.” Her voice is lower, but she's a solid few seconds away from throttling him. “What the fuck did he do to you?”

“Okay, this-” He waves his arm, wincing. His ibuprofen is wearing off, it seems. “Wasn’t Zim. There was a...a-a robot and-”

“But that-” She indicates the now hidden gnarly bruise. He hasn’t seen her this upset since he broke her Game Slave when he was fifteen. “Was?” 

“...potentially?” Room starts getting dark again, the ground quaking just so. Patrons are starting to take notice as a glass falls off a table and shatters to the floor.

“You don’t _remember_?”

“Okay, no. No, it was. I was…” He sighs, ears going red and clicking his fork against the fake wooden table. “present and aware for that.” Gaz is gaping at him, open mouth, disbelief written over every aspect of her face, but at least everything returns back to normal around them. 

She slowly moves forward, staring at the table, putting her fingers to her temples and leaning on her elbows. 

“Holy shit.” She mutters to herself.

Dib waits, holding his breath. There’s no way in hell she’s figured it out, right? A lot of other things could cause that kind of bruise on his neck. That would be the last thing he needs right now, in the middle of a fucking family establishment is her going into 'Gaz is fucking pissed' mode.

“What?” He prods eventually when Gaz continues to not move, dreading the answer. Gaz blinks, clicking her mouth shut as if she's come to a decision. She collects herself and sits up, her face returning to its usual apathetic arrangement, much to Dib's concern. 

“Nothing.” She picks her phone back up, re-opening her game as though nothing happened. When she glances at Dib’s confused expression, she frowns. “Finish your food before I shove it down your foodhole. I’ve got to stream in like an hour.”

The rest of the meal is in silence; Gaz being mute and unresponsive to Dib’s nervous questions. Didn’t matter what he asked or what threads of conversation he tried to start, she just ignored him until he was done and the meal was paid for. He can't help but dread what this means:

Gaz quiet is usually worse than Gaz threatening him.

“I’m running late. Text you later.” She says when they've left the establishment, briskly stomping away and leaving him to the woes of public transport. Dib’s eyelid twitches.

“Good to see you too, jackass!” He calls back, an old man glaring at him for the foul language before shuffling past him into the diner. Dib ignores him, resigning himself to the lonely bus ride back to his place. 

He'll find out eventually what she's thinking. And it probably won't be pretty. 

* * *

It’s oddly quiet in his building when he returns. No loud music, no fighting couples, no neighbor chick’s cat bouncing off every surface above him. Dib relaxes into it, enjoying the peace for the few precious hours he has before his evening shift. He would nap, but his thoughts are too wired for any kind of sleep to take place. 

He pulls the rumpled card out of his pocket as he sits down on the couch, tossing it across the room without a thought and watching as it hits the wall and falls to the ground. He checks his phone, still no messages or accusatory warnings, but he tells Gaz he made it home with a passive aggressive tone, before thumbing back over to Zim’s conversation. 

_FINE - Space Boy_

Glad to hear it. 

He rubs his neck, biting his lip at the fresh sting as he puts even the slightest pressure on the bruise there. He rips his hand away, putting his face in his palms and groaning at the eighteen juxtaposing emotions tugging at him right now. He’s still got two hours before work. He should’ve stayed in town. Being alone with his mess of a head was a mistake. 

Dib glances back at his phone, index finger hovering over the call button again. What would he even talk to Zim about? They never call each other; Dib disliking phone conversations in general, and Zim having a hard time hearing anything considering his lack of an outer ear. The only good it would serve is making Zim annoyed in favor of satisfying this out of place need to hear that he’s alive or whatever. 

Dib growls, mussing up his hair in frustration. Zim's being Zim at the worst time to be, Gaz probably thinks he's being abused and is about to go on a rampage, and his dad is...around. Why did this have to get complicated?

Footsteps, loud and distracting, ring mutedly in the apartment above. Dib listens, frozen, frowning, yet welcoming something else to catch his attention. He’s never heard neighbor chick in this much of a hurry. Her door slams, more footsteps, the door to the stairwell clicks, boots on the metal steps follow suit, and yet vanish after one flight. Where is she going? 

The knock on his door is hurried, damning, and desperate, sending Dib sprawling across his sofa in shock. He blinks at his door, unease creeping through him and sliding his phone back into his pocket. With great trepidation and curiosity, heart now hammering in his chest, he goes to the door, eyeing through the peephole.

It’s the neighbor chick, head to the side, eyes red and puffy, a black cat bundled in her arms. She runs a hand through her short dark blue hair, adding to the mess it's already in and knocks again.

He cracks open the door, and she jumps in surprise, as though not expecting him to actually answer. 

“Uh, hi,” He starts, realizing he doesn’t know her name. They never really exchanged such information in the year they’ve been waving at each other on the stairs and ignoring the weird noises in each other's apartments. 

“Hey,” She whispers, unplaceable accent clear even now. Her eyes shift left and right, as if making sure they’re alone, before she steps closer, pale fingers curling around the side of the door. Dib leans back to keep his own space. “Can… can I come in?” 

He’s not sure, anxiety casting frigid fingers down his back as he searches her face for anything malevolent. What he finds instead is fear, genuine terror, barely hidden under a facade of holding it together. He opens the door wider, stepping aside. 

She hurries in, glancing over her shoulder as she crosses over the threshold. As Dib closes the door, he becomes acutely aware of how messy his floors are. The neighbor chick doesn’t seem to mind, coming to a halt in front of his couch, chewing visibly on her lower lip. The cat leaps from her arms quietly, staying warily close, and the woman folds them tighter over her chest. 

“What’s up?” Dib asks after a moment of silence, standing awkwardly by the door still and staring at the cat staring back at him. For how much noise it usually makes upstairs, it seems rather discreet in his apartment.

He has no intention of stepping any closer. Something doesn’t feel right, doesn’t sit right as he tries and tries again to come up with a coherent reason why she would be here. Did someone break in? Why would she come to him, of all people?

She finally looks at him, eyes watery as though she’s seconds from bursting into tears. Dib stays unmoving by the door, unsure of what to do. It hits him now of all times that he’s never dealt with a non-Gaz or Zim emotional outburst. What is he supposed to do with a stranger softly crying in his living room when all he knows how to deal with is long rants about how gruesomely he's going to die and a little green alien trying to gouge his own eyes out?

When his frigid deliberation takes too long, she glances away for a minute, blinking back tears, though Dib could swear he saw a flash of anger. He’s probably just reading too much into it. 

“Something attacked me.” She says finally, turning all but fully away, and this gets Dib moving, his synapses firing off. 

Oh _shit._

“What did?” He steps into her space, hands coming up to offer a grounding touch only to fall flat when she steps back. He should've known something like this would happen. Should've suspected it sooner. He's so used to no one in the whole city noticing the aliens at their back door that he didn't even think the mercenaries might hurt someone other than him and Zim.

“I don’t know.” She whispers, eyes wide, voice high. “I don’t know!” She puts her hands in her hair, pulling it as her breathing quickens. “It- I- I was…” She gulps in as much air as she can, trembling as she stares unfocused at the floor. Dib reaches out again to touch her, to comfort, and in an instant she’s collapsed into his chest. 

“Uh-” He starts, stiltedly patting her back. But why would an alien attack her? Zim isn’t anywhere near here, neither is his PAK that they’re all presumably tracking. Is it appropriate to ask what the thing was? Or should he wait until she calms down?

“I-I stabbed the...the thing but it's…” She lifts her head, face tear stained and pale. “It’s still up there.” She finishes, voice hushed and quivering. 

“Is it alive?” He could smack himself for how dumb that sounds, but neighbor chick doesn’t seem to care as she shakes her head, moving back away from him to wipe her eyes. 

“I don’t know.” She hugs her chest again. “It’s big and-and weird and got tentacles or...or something-” She catches his eye, expression wide in disbelief. “Oh, God, I swear, I’m not crazy!”

“No, no, I believe you!” Dib insists, and he guides her to the couch to have a seat. “How bout this? I can uh-” He glances behind him, thinking on his feet. Can he deal with an alien by himself? His arm is still kind of fucked and he hasn’t had any luck lately without Zim to save his ass. “We’ll wait a second until we’re a little more calm and we can go take a look,” He looks back at her, hopefully with some measure of authority. “Okay?” 

She nods, swallowing dryly. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” He moves to the kitchen, nearly tripping over the cat who follows him. He'll get her some water, call Zim, and they can wait for someone with more than a kitchen knife to arrive.

“Yes, that would be great.” Her voice is scratchy, oddly ponderous, and he opens his cupboard for a mug. The cat jumps onto the counter in front of him, tail whipping back and forth. He doesn’t really want it there, but he says nothing. Now really isn't the time.

“Is water alright?” He turns on the sink, filling up the mug. She sighs behind him, almost in disappointment as he turns the water off. “I don’t have much, sorry.” 

“Poor, useless Dib,” He stills, setting the full mug back down on the questionably clean counter. Alarm bells ring in his brain, hairs raising at the nape of his neck at the sound of his name in that voice behind him. “You’re still so gullible.” 

He turns around, tense, ready to demand if she’s been going through his mail or spying on him, but his throat clamps shut when he sees the visage of the neighbor petering out, replaced by a familiar purple-eyed, curly antennaed Irken. The color drains from his face, stumbling a bit into the sink as his hand slides into his pocket for his phone. 

"Hey, Tak. Long time no see." His fingers alight upon his cell and Tak sneers, getting to her feet.

"MiMi!” 

Dib’s reaction is sluggish as the black cat leaps toward him, it’s facade fizzling into the familiar upgraded SIR-unit. Just as he begins to move to the door, it latches onto his back, the robot’s massive arm detaching into a long metal cord that wraps around Dib’s arms. Unbalanced, nothing to save his fall, he tumbles to the floor, smacking his nose to the linoleum. 

“Oh, come on!” Dib yells, struggling against his immovable bonds. There’s something trickling from his stinging nose. Great. “Can I go ONE week without bleeding all over myself?” 

Tak walks over, regarding Dib with a smug expression. She pokes his arm with her boot. 

“I was going to lead you upstairs to do this, but I guess in the ten years since I last had the **displeasure** of seeing you, Dib,” Tak spouts, that vague accent and self-assured manner of speech suddenly making too much sense. “You still haven’t learned a single thing.” She nudges his temple next. “At least your head seems to have shrunk in that time.” 

“I grew into it.” He grumbles, before realizing his admittance with a start. “Wait, my head was never that big!” Dib looks her up and down, disgruntled and humiliated at being duped by Tak. Again. In the time since he last saw her physical form, she hasn’t changed much, as Irkens seem not to, except: “You’ve gotten taller.” He points out, plainly.

Her eyes narrow, antennae twitching, mouth cross. It’s true, while the holo-disguise did add height to her natural form, she has increased a few inches. Nowhere near as drastically as Zim, of course, but enough to be noticeable 

“MiMi.” She says finally, nodding at Dib’s legs. “His phone.” He feels a little robot hand shuffling in his pockets and he strains to see what MiMi is doing. Each attempted wriggling tightens the cord around him, however, biting into his skin.

“Wha-” The robot pulls the cell free, tossing it to it’s master who catches it with ease. “Hey! Give that back!” 

“Shut him up, MiMi.” She orders in disinterest. A loop of the cord lengthens from his chest, whipping up and wedging itself in between Dib’s open lips, effectively gagging him. He gnashes at it, teeth aching at the hard surface and gagging at the oily metallic taste that covers his tongue. With a toothy grin, Tak points the phone’s camera at Dib. “Smile.”

He tries to shout, drool already beginning to collect around the thick cord, but only manages to wedge further back into his mouth. The camera clicks, and Tak immediately starts typing away, the tell-tale sound of a message being sent before she tosses the phone over her shoulder. It lands with a _thump_ on a dirty shirt.

“I hope you didn’t have anywhere _pressing_ to be tonight,” Tak puts a boot on his lower back, fiddling with her wrist and Dib continues his muffled protests. Blood and spittle mix on his chin and drip to the floor as he kicks out, trying to wiggle away, but to no avail. “Because it's going to be a _while_ before you come back.”

She presses a final command into her wrist, the air around them turning bright as Dib recognizes a teleportation apparatus being activated. Dib cries out but he is helpless to stop himself from being whisked miles upon miles away in the blink of an eye. 

The world turns white, and the last thing he hears before his apartment is gone is his phone ringing uselessly on the floor.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: None

Stupid Dib and his stupid obsession with stupid Zim. She going to kill that fucking little green alien if its the last thing she does. 

Gaz has spent the better part of her life dealing with the melodrama between her idiot older brother and the brain-dead, self important creep couldn’t open a can of beans, let alone take over the whole planet. But dear God did he try. And try. And try. 

And **try.**

And of course, Dib had to be there for _all of it_ , shouting and chasing Zim around like an overzealous chihuahua, half the time pulling Gaz into it by proxy. How many times did she have to drag him away, kicking and screaming, from some dumb bullshit Zim was pulling? How many times did she have to forgo plans, family time with dad, work, school, literally everything just to keep Dib’s ass from getting over-confidently vaporized by some broken contraption of Zim’s design? 

Gaz parks her car against the curb, Zim’s ugly ass house in plain view. She glares at it, it’s clashing colors even more annoying after not seeing the thing for a few years. Nothing’s changed about it either; it just as obviously doesn’t belong as it did when she was fifteen as it doesn’t now. 

Just like it’s loud, annoying, useless owner, who her brother has chased to the end of the galaxy, presumably believing he was more important than he actually was.

Not surprisingly, all the chasing stopped because Dib found out he was a clone. Gaz’ll be honest: she didn’t see that coming. She didn’t even believe him at the time. He’s come up with weirder conspiracy theories, but this one hit home, and while her dad was telling her conflicting information and Dib was bombarding her with text after text and call after call, she chose to shut him out for a while. 

She chose to believe dad.

Gaz eventually found the research notes months after the initial blow up when that tingle of guilt began to override the hardline anger at Dib for breaking up their family. With some digging, she discovered the video evidence dad had purposefully moved to one of his big labs instead of keeping it in an unlocked drawer in their basement. She watched and read as her dad explained every step in his plan, in his paranoia to beat death itself. Listened as he kept the year old clone a secret from mom while she was sick and pregnant with Gaz. 

Realized that even she didn't make it out of this experimental phase in her dad's career unscathed.

That...hurt. The lies dad told her straight to her face, the guilt of ignoring Dib in favor of something incorrect yet comfortable. Normal. It took a lot of apologizing to get Dib to speak to her again and she doesn’t blame him for that. 

It’s not hard to see why her brother latched onto the universe’s loudest green mistake. Zim was there when she wasn’t. While she was ignoring her distraught brother, the stupid fucking alien was letting him sleep on his couch. While she was convinced Dib was lying, Zim was listening to him talk through his newfound dissonance with himself. While she blocked his number, Zim helped him get back to baseline. 

Gaz groans, letting her forehead hit the steering wheel. She turns the car off, hits her head again. 

She doesn’t do ‘complicated’. And for a good while there, stuff stopped being complicated. Dib stopped getting hurt every week and was talking to her again. Zim stopped his planet conquering bullshit. Gaz could live her own life, safely knowing her stupid brother was at least trying to be a normal person, get a degree, live, kind of, in society. He might be fucking an alien. Who knows. But he’s at least trying, damnit.

But if that fucking alien is back on his bullshit… If he’s pulling Dib back into some space faring, alien fuckery when things were just getting to some level of normal...

Gaz opens the car door, stepping into the brisk afternoon with a determination she hasn’t had to muster in a while. Stomping in the yard, the lawn gnomes turn to her with eyes glowing, but she kicks one over and they turn right back around. The door is unlocked, of course, and as she shoves it open, her phone dings. 

Probably Dib bitching about not getting a ride home. 

“ **INTRUDER.** ” GIR shouts, hopping off the couch, eyes and middle going red as some kind of gun comes out of his head. Gaz doesn’t even flinch.

“Where is Zim?” At the demand, the gun goes back into his head, and GIR is back to blue.

“Hi Gaz!” GIR greets her, little pink tongue sticking out and waving his little robot hand. He suddenly freezes and turns around, gasping at the T.V. He’s watching an archived stream of her’s, evidenced by her own frowning visage in the corner just barely overlapping the video game being played.

He covers the TV as best he can with his skinny arms, giggling nervously.

Cute.

“GIR, where is Zim?” Gaz asks again, as plainly and pointedly as she can. If she adds any modifiers to her question, he’ll go off on a tangent about whatever words he chose to hear, so it’s best to keep it simple.

“He’s making bracelets.” The robot points to the semi-obscured elevator Zim has moved at least ten times since landing on the planet. “Friendship bracelets.” 

GIR thankfully doesn’t follow her, though she could tell he wanted to, as she steps into the elevator and she descends into the stale bowels of Zim’s unnecessarily huge lower base. 

“Hey, long time no...carry?” The Computer muses after a moment of descent. 

“Take me to whatever level your dumb owner is fucking around in.” It’s a testament to either Zim’s or his people's incompetence that the stationary mega computer can understand sarcasm and colloquialisms, yet the mobile frontline robot tries to eat weeds if you tell him to clean up the lawn.

“Uh, I mean, I’m technically not supposed to but-” There’s a whine in the mechanics, and a shift in the gears as the trajectory changes. A low annoying elevator music starts playing. “Whatever. It's fine.”

Gaz is not going to kill Zim. Or even hurt the green fucker, cause if she did, Dib would complain about it for weeks. She’s just going to shake him up a bit. Find out what he’s started now and if she can put a stop to it. Dib can be vague and unhelpful if he wants, but Zim can’t keep his trap shut to save his life. 

If he’s got something to brag about, he’ll tell Gaz whatever she wants to know. 

* * *

_The wrist PAK...let is coming along nicely. Unfortunately, some of the tools re-used from the original are connected with the tracking programming and to separate them_ **_eludes_ ** _me for the time being._

_You will not avoid Zim forever!_

_I will have to deal with it until I can cut it out. With the array of functionality now at my disposal, the trade off is more than worth it._

**_Oh yes. So very worth it._ **

_I may have to modify the strap further as it does pull HORRIBLY on the nub of my wrist thingy if my **amazing** focus slips_.

_UNFORTUNATE. I do not want to disrupt its regrowth._

_It is_ **_sensitive. AVOID TOUCHING THE NUB._ **

_In the meantime, I-_

“Zim!”

_Dib-sister?!_

* * *

“What did you do to my brother?” Gaz demands, seemingly calm, yet Zim’s antenna twitch at the thinly veiled threat underneath the surface. The door swooshes close behind her as her steps echo damningly in the chamber.

“Computer!” Zim shouts to the ceiling. “Why have you let the horrible one into my, _my_ WORK STATION? DO YOU WISH ZIM DEAD?”

“You wanted me to tell her no?” The Computer responds and Zim starts to snarl. 

“You-”

“What did you do to my brother, Zim?” Gaz cuts him off, already getting annoyed and stepping more into the room. Zim hunches at the accusation, which only makes it more obvious that Dib wasn’t kidding when he said the alien had grown.

“Zim did nothing to the Dib-beast!” He exclaims, trying to keep a sensible distance between him and Gaz. Every step forward becomes a step backwards for him. But the room is only so large and he’s got a big ass work table behind him.

“So what happened to his arm?” Zim sneers, rapidly running out of floor space. His weird hairy legs extend from his back, scrambling for purchase on his too smooth metal walls and his feet knock over tools and scrap metal to roll loudly away. It’s fun to watch him squirm. 

“Do not blame that on Zim!” He blinks and rubs his eyes, casting them just to the left of Gaz as if he can’t keep her fully in his sight as he continues to clamber up the wall. The room has gotten noticeably darker. “ **Scum** have been attempting _and failing_ to capture me for a bounty and Dib was caught in the cross-fire!” 

A bounty? What the fuck has been going on while she wasn’t paying attention?

“You’re seriously dragging him into this shit again?” It's easy to get angry at how careless Zim is, at how his interest in the well-being of anyone around him is the last thing he thinks of. It was fine when she and Dib were kids, but now...

“Cease your _wibblys_ , Dib-sister,” Zim snaps, holding his head in one hand. “And put the room back to normal!” Gaz ignores the plea as the floor starts to vibrate. He can deal with it. “And I have dragged the Dib into nothing! His being around is...INCIDENTAL. TO _MY BOUNTY_!” 

“Really?” Gaz shakes her head in disbelief, crossing her arms, “Who would want **you** for anything?” 

“You question the worth of ZIM?” He gestures violently, starts to slip as the vibrations make it to the walls, and catches himself with a humiliated grimace. “Clearly, my superiors still require my _brilliance_ for something to offer a large enough reward to buy a new fleet of ships!”

“Didn’t you kill one of your ‘superiors’?” 

“NOT IMPORTANT!” He’s so fucking loud. 

“Fine. What happened to his neck then?” Zim freezes mid-rebuttal, mouth slapping shut and grip slipping on the wall. He slides down to the floor, grimacing in what could only be shame. “Was that the ‘bounty hunters’ too or did **you** get a little too fucking excited?”

Alright, so she’s a little weirded out, irritated, upset at the idea of her brother doing anything remotely intimate with this piece of space trash. It was inevitable, probably, given Dib has literally no other friends, and seemingly no interest in any human being in that regard, but fucking Christ, couldn’t he have at least stuck to online roleplay servers like every other idiot with a paraphilic fetish?

Or at least found a different alien other than the one who can’t seem to grasp the basic concept of not experimenting on your friends, let alone probably having no concept of how to have a healthy, not horribly abusive intimate relationship?

The room is starting to break apart and Zim glares, mouth shut with his teeth bared as he stumbles to his feet despite the shaking ground beneath him. Gaz breathes, clenches her fists to calm down as a massive tube is knocked loose from the ceiling, crashing into the wall with thunderous noise.

She needs to calm down a bit. She just wants to scare the idiot, not break his house. Gaz hasn't done much actual property damage since...everything else went down.

The Membrane house had to have a lot of frequent renovations in a very short period of time.

“Things have gotten... _complicated._ ” Zim is deliberate in his word choice, no longer full of the usual bombast. It's enough to let Gaz get herself a little more under control.

“Then you better start explaining it to me.” She threatens, even as the quaking stops and light begins to return to the base once more.

“I-” A beep, a message being received interrupts him. Instinctively, Gaz touches her pocket, though she knows it isn’t hers, while Zim scrambles to pull out his phone. “Horrible human _technology_. I put you on silen- ”

Zim’s eyes bulge out of his skull, mouth agape as he stares at his cellphone. Who even texts him other than Dib?

“What?” Gaz asks suspiciously, and Zim holds the phone to his chest, antennae down to his shoulders. 

“Nothing!” Liar. Gaz closes the distance between them, and after a short tug-of-war, she has the phone from him. “Do not touch Zim!” 

“Shut up.” Once glance at the screen and Gaz almost drops the phone.

It’s a photo of Dib, arms bound to his sides and pinned on his front, blood dripping from his nose, mouth gagged, angrily glaring at the camera as a small child-sized robot holds him down. She looks closer, brow knitting as she sees the message underneath.

 _Come get him -_ Dib

She glances back at Zim, taken aback by the open helplessness on his face, appearing lost and confused. She forwards the message with the address attached to herself and shoves the phone back in his hand before turning to the exit. 

“My car. Now.”

* * *

How does she keep getting roped into this shit? How is it this fucking idiot alien is so good at getting whoever gets close to him into his personal drama? 

She sends a quick message to her subscribers that the stream is going to be late tonight, citing family issues. People are quick to forgive, as always, expressing sympathy and hopes everything is fine. If only they knew she was thirty minutes from watching an Irken catfight while she rescues her brother from another dumb situation, yet again.

It's Tak, obviously. Her robot is kind of distinct and her ship had like 10 gigs of photos of it deep in the hard drive. It wouldn’t be hard to guess that if Zim had a bounty, she’d be showing up again to have another excuse to get revenge or whatever motivates her. Gaz isn't exactly worried though.

She hasn’t met a competent alien yet, though Tak is the closest. It’s doubtful she wants anything to do with Dib, probably just using him to get Zim away from his base. So long as Dib is still alive, Gaz can get him out and if Tak wants to smack Zim around...

Gaz might just let that happen, at least for a little bit. If Dib is fine, why wouldn’t Gaz let Tak scare the shit out of their shared issue? She won’t let the other Irken take Zim, if that is her plan; Dib would never let Gaz hear the end of it if she did, but if it sobers Zim up a bit...

This might actually turn out to be fun.

“Look at that dog!” Gaz grits her teeth, begrudgingly glancing at the pigeon sitting on the streetlight they’ve stopped at. GIR pulls himself half out his window, waving erratically. At least it will be fun once their actually at the fucking place which is apparently int the middle of the forest outside of town. “Hi, doggy!”

“Sure is cute.” Gaz says under breath, tapping a finger on her steering wheel and begging the light to change. She slams the gas when it does, leaving the intersection and the bird to choke on her dust. 

“Ah, I loved him.” 

As expected, driving with Zim and GIR is annoying as fuck. The robot won’t stop pointing out the window at various mundane objects and places, exclaiming equally boring anecdotes about past experiences at ‘that mailbox’ or with ‘that tree’. Riveting stuff that comes out like a burst damn to grate on Gaz’s ears. 

Zim, for his part, makes general Zim noises, gesticulating to himself as he rants about...something. 

“Who does this...PERSON think they are? How DARE that...that fiend... **_FIEND_** touch my _my_ **stuff**. With their…. _sticky_ -” He grunts and makes grabby motions with his fingers as Gaz turns up the music in a desperate bid to drown him out. He seriously hasn’t figured out its Tak yet. Is his memory _that_ bad? “ **HANDS.** Nobody touches my stuff. NOBODY.”

“Dib isn’t ‘your stuff’, moron.” Gaz mutters, surprised when Zim stops his talking mid-sentence. He blinks at the open road ahead of them, silent and still as he seemingly processes the words. 

Of course Zim would only be here because ‘his stuff’ has been stolen. Not because the only idiot who listens to him is in trouble, not because his friend or boyfriend or whatever might get hurt. No, because someone is touching his ‘stuff’. 

And he apparently can’t even think of Dib as anything other than a thing to own considering how he can’t even process an alternative. The fucking psychopath.

Gaz huffs when no response comes forth as she pulls off to park in the small lot that leads to the hiking trail in the forest outside of town. It's all too familiar being here again; she hasn’t made a habit of it since Dib moved out as the only reason she came here before was to drag his ass home from demon-summoning or secret undead milking or whatever the fuck he did.

Gaz slams the door as she steps onto neglected blacktop, GIR following suit within seconds. He pads over, grabs her hand with a goofy dog grin. Gaz rolls her eyes but doesn’t shake him off, instead walking around the car to the passenger side, knocking on Zim’s window where the alien is still sat stock still. 

“Get out the car, stupid.” Zim blinks again, looks at her. A short breeze blows a crushed plastic cup across the cracked parking lot, it skittering loudly in the quiet afternoon.

“Eh?” Scowling, Gaz opens the door.

“We don’t have time for this, Zim. I already pushed back my stream a few hours.” She motions to grab him and he jumps away, scrabbling to unbuckle his seatbelt, whining about 'not touching Zim'.

He hops out, banging his head and hissing, kicking the car for the ‘attack’. When he straightens, frowning and rubbing his head under his dumb wig, Zim comes to just under her nose. She looks him up and down, his weird back thing and legs barely disguised as a backpack over a large hoodie that looks suspiciously like something Dib would wear.

“I don’t like you taller.” Gaz states as Zim shuts the car door. 

“Zim had no say in it, Earth-stink.” He snaps back.

It’s going to be a long walk.

* * *

It's another 20 minute hike up into the woods, up and down the hilly terrain on well-worn paths that city goers flock to for a bit of nature. Gaz has no love for the forest; too many bugs, too much dirt, not enough reception though thankfully the GPS in her phone still guides them to the location without much issue. 

GIR skips at her side, trading off humming for babbling and back again whenever the want hits him to which Zim and Gaz ignore. Zim is still muttering to himself, tripping every now and then and regularly yelping as branches smack him in the face. They have to keep stopping for him to kick or break whatever has touched him and its driving Gaz up a wall.

It honestly feels like Gaz is taking the two space dunderheads on a field trip like a bunch of 2nd graders. Which would probably be less of a hassle if she was with actual 2nd graders.

“Awful. HORRIBLE. **NATURE.** ” Zim finally snaps, batting uselessly at a bunch of gnats that have latched themselves to the air in front of his face. He’s ditched the wig and contacts though GIR is still a dog. “I HATE IT! If I do nothing else to this rotting dirt _rock_ , I wipe out all these disgusting _putrescent insects_ and...TREES for daring to-” He cries out, knuckling his eyes. “ITS BITING MY CORNEA!”

“Jesus, Zim, could you calm the fuck down for like five minutes?” They’ve stopped again, irritatingly, and Gaz knows she’s on the cusp of just leaving the alien here in the middle of the forest and getting Dib back herself. The GPS pings 11 minutes of walking left, and it's exactly eleven minutes too much. 

Zim’s eyelid flutters, watery, as he glances at her, teeth bared and eye partially closed. He sniffs, scratches his cheek, and sneers.

“You and the Dib are annoyingly emotional.” Gaz fights the want to punch him.

“Congratulations, you figured out we’re related. Can we go get Dib from Tak and her dumb robot slave now?” Zim’s expression shifts to offended, for reasons unknown as Gaz starts walking away.

“Dumb robot?” He screeches, jogging to catch up. “That _robot_ is a modified, standard issue SIR unit! **Brilliant** piece of machinery given to all _invaders_ to aid in our _glorious conquest_ of these **disgusting planets** for the good of the Armada!” 

“Glad to hear it. Again.” 

“But what bounty hunter would have SIR-unit?” Zim muses. Did he not hear her? Gaz pinches the bridge of her nose, groaning. “Are they thieves? Of INVADERS?”

“That’s Tak’s robot.” Gaz finally breaks incredulously. “Tak has Dib.” Zim cocks his head to the side as they continue to hike, antennae all over the place as he doesn’t register the name even though it's not exactly hard to remember Tak's few weeks on Earth.

“Heh?” 

“Tak.” Gaz says again, drawing the single syllable out. No recognition comes forth in Zim. “She tried to fill the planet with snacks for your dumb figureheads.” 

“Who?” 

“She’s the other Irken who swore revenge on you.” He shrugs. “We had her ship in our backyard for like 3 years.” He continues to blink at her like a dolt. Gaz wracks her memory for anything until: “She slapped you with meat a whole bunch?” 

“TAK!” There it is. “That **horibble traitor!** ” 

Gaz stares at him, frowning, brow knit, finally shaking her head and trudging ahead. 

“How does Dib deal with you?” It’s said under her ever so labored breath, not used to this level of uphill activity. It’s chill in the afternoon, but not enough that just walking mostly uphill isn’t making her uncomfortably warm.

“The Dib is a good human-worm.” She rolls her eyes, though Zim is behind her and likely doesn’t see it. “Very useful to my _plans_.”

“Oh, yeah a good ‘plan worm’. Glad to hear you think so highly of your one friend.” She steps over a rock easily and GIR laying on his back pretending to be the same rock even easier. “Are you even worried about Dib? Or are you just…” She takes in a steadying breath. Gaz doesn’t do hiking. “Here to get your 'stuff' back and prove a point?” 

“That doesn’t concern your puny little _brain_!” She lets the insult slide.

“Are you even worried you might lose the one…” Breathe. “Idiot dumb enough to listen to you every day?” She doesn’t expect a straight answer. She waits for the blustering, the snide remark, the indignation of the implication that someone as great as Zim could worry over a dirt-whatever term he’s calling humans today. 

Hell, she’s not even worried Dib is going to get hurt, but mostly because she's certain he's still alive and positive she can get him out of whatever situation he's in. At least she realizes her brother is person, barely, and not some tool to through a fit over when its missing.

She doesn’t even know why she asked. All Zim is going to do is say something insulting or dumb, and then she’ll get annoyed, and there will be another spiral of insults and yelling. Why even ask when she knows the answer is fundamentally going to be nowhere near-

“...yes.” 

She almost doesn’t hear it; the response so soft and uncharacteristic for the alien walking just behind her that it almost gets lost under the crunching of fallen leaves. It catches her off guard, tripping over a root and nearly losing her balance. Gaz opens her mouth to respond scathingly, but closes it again after deciding against it. She shivers as a mid-November breeze chills the sweat that's begun to form on her neck. 

“Zim, look.” She says, not daring to glance over her shoulder and lose to will to say anything charitable to this...this _moron_ who won’t stop fucking around in her life and family. “Dib’s going to be fine. And then you two can continue doing...whatever you do, but-”

Gaz stops, facing Zim and levying her panting to something more controlled and quiet as Zim narrows his gaze. She moves closer, shoulders square, and her target stands his ground. Somewhere in the background, GIR is attempting to eat a squirrel.

“If I get one fucking word of you doing anything Dib isn’t 100% on board with, it won’t matter how far away you are from Earth.” She prods him in his chest, a bit easier now that he’s gotten taller. “I’ll find you. And there won’t be any end to your **suffering** when I get my hands on you.” 

“Gaz has nothing to worry about.” Zim says after a moment, nonchalantly waving his hand and smacking hers away, though his expression is all but relieved at Gaz's words. “Dib wouldn’t let me do things he isn’t ‘on board with’.” He finishes with a mutter.

“Good. And gross.” Gaz turns away, feeling nauseous at the image that unfortunately conjured up and continues to walk up the hill away from Zim. 

They don’t have long now. Nine minutes left and Gaz can grab Dib, and let Zim and Tak fight it out. Behind her, Zim starts to catch up, the tell-tale squeaking of GIR not far behind. 

“You’re gunna die, master!” 

“Now is not the time, GIR. And spit that **squirrel out**!”

* * *

The last stretch of forest reveals a small clearing just over another hill where the GPS points as their destination.

A shed of sorts, massive in proportions given its location, shoved perfectly in-between the trees stands before them. It’s simple, square, plain, with a flat roof and a few windows for ventilation. There’s nothing that would immediately stop someone from entering save for its uninteresting nature, and maybe the carefully chosen out of the way placement of its location.

In front of its single door stands Tak in all her dark clothes and purple eyes. Her arms are crossed over her chest, chin raised high though her generally short stature lends nothing to the intimidating picture she’s trying to portray. Gaz knows she should feel something like trepidation or anxiety at the appearance of Zim’s old enemy, but honestly she just feels tired.

Its just another day in the literal park for her.

“Tak!” Zim shouts, moving ahead of Gaz and pointing an accusatory finger. “Where is the Dib-beast?”

“Well well,” Tak starts, eyeing Gaz pointedly. “If it isn’t Zim and another one of your... insipid Earth friends.” 

“Friend?” Gaz raises an eyebrow at that. 

“Ha!” Zim laughs smugly. “Foolish Tak! The Gaz-beast harbors nothing but _boiling_ **horrible** **hatred** for _Zim!_ ” 

“I expected only the _idiot_ but no matter.” Tak says with a shrug, clicking a button on a remote in her hand cradled in her elbow. 

Screeching of steel sounds off through the small clearing, and a massive unmanned battle robot stomps round from back of the shed, each footfall vibrating the earth beneath their feet. Its body is square with a glass front showcasing an empty holding chamber atop thick sturdy legs. It takes its place in front of a smirking Tak, squaring itself across the intruders.

“My capture bot will make short work of you even with the extra help. We can talk when Zim is _contained_.” She cackles madly, turning to disappear into the shed as her robot extends its arms out, metal fingers flexing towards Zim who immediately ducks behind Gaz with a yelp. 

“You’re such a coward.” Gaz snaps, stepping back as the robot comes closer with creaky joints. Zim points over her shoulder at it. 

“Zim is no coward! The Gaz is merely…” He fights to keep her between him and the grabby bot. “ _better suited_ to stopping the thing!” 

“Why? It's not after me.” She attempts to turn the tables, get Zim in front of her, but he’s a clingy bastard with claws for fingers. “I should just let it get you. Solve my immediate problem.” 

“If you do, Dib will never cease his **wretched** complaining!” 

That sinks in, and Gaz sighs, letting go of Zim’s skinny arm, and facing the robot now all but looming over him. 

She hates when Zim’s right.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Violence. (and exposition)

It's annoying how familiar this all feels despite it having been literal years since Dib was last put in the middle of two aliens having beef with each other.

When the world stops spinning, it's clear they’ve appeared in some form of larger than usual shed or storage unit. It’s relatively barren, with only a dusty table covered in tools and weapons near the middle, the singular door, and nothing else. The walls are functional and metal and the floor is cold and concrete yet clearly human in design, and there’s warped plastic windows to the sunny afternoon outside. 

So, still on Earth. Good. That’s a plus.

Nauseous from the trip, no longer used to the beaming or teleporting or whatever they call it, Dib is like putty as Tak directs MiMi into propping him against a wall before throwing a switch a few feet from him. A transparent, vaguely purple tube made out of physical light shoots up around him, encasing him in a prison from floor to ceiling with barely enough room to stretch his elbows out, let along the rest of his arms. 

Dib looks up, takes in the new walls around him, pokes it a bit, sniffs at the way the sonorous thumping sound echoes in the chamber, and then sighs, leveling a tired stare at Tak. She coughs, bemused and standing at attention in front of him.

“You’re... struggling a lot less then I thought you would.” Her words are clear as day even through the light prison. Dib scratches the back of his head with a shrug. The cold of the concrete beneath his ass is starting to seep into his skin, but he’s still too jelly-like to get up.

“Yeah, sorry. If you let me go home and nap for like two hours and we try this again, I’ll have more ‘struggling’ for you.” She gives him that alien expression for ‘I don’t completely know if you’re fucking with me or not’ and Dib sighs in exasperation. “Look, I’ve done this before-” 

“What, taken against your will and put in a temporary containment chamber?” 

“I mean, being put in a tube was a normal Tuesday there for a while...” He holds back the joke that it's also how he spent the first year of his life, cause really he’s got no want to explain any of that to Tak of all people. “Sorry you missed all that.” 

There’s a certain begrudging truth to that. He kind of liked Tak and he certainly missed her voice after her ship got lost somewhere by Jupiter when he was fifteen. He would often find himself wondering what she was up to, if she was still alive, when she’d be back.

Speaking of which.

“You were seriously living upstairs? For a whole year?” Tak smirks, tired of staring at him and moving to the work table decked out in more weapons than Dib has seen collectively in four years.

“Hilarious you didn’t seem to _notice_ anything was out of the ordinary.” She takes a seat, and, without preamble begins inspecting the equipment atop it. Dib quickly wipes his glasses on his shirt and glances around himself with her now distracted.

“In retrospect, I probably should’ve been more suspicious.” 

There’s nothing in the containment chamber, just floor and air and himself. MiMi is stationed just to his left, resolute in its orders as ever, and the switch is about chest level to his right, well beyond reach within the chamber. He could look for a seam or a hole to try and shove a hand through. It's possible if the containment unit is a cheap model or older but…

Dib sits back, lets his head hit the light with a ringing noise and stares blindly as the slow trickle of ever-shifting light in the walls around him float effortlessly. His arm hurts. His face hurts. He just hurts. It’s difficult to muster the desire to escape at the moment. Tak isn’t going to actually hurt him because she already would have if that was the plan, plus he’s not certain he could get very far given he is extremely outgunned and outmanned. 

He's just bait, a useful idiot with no sense of self-preservation. Now that their in the designated meeting location, it's a boring waiting game.

And it’s obvious who they’re waiting for. He’s only got like five numbers in his phone, so unless Tak was hellbent on getting his manager out into the woods, he’s got a pretty good idea who got the picture. Dib isn’t sure what the economy is like in the general space market, but the bounty on Zim’s head seems large and if Tak is still gearing for revenge, Zim would make a pretty good trade for her getting into the Invader rank.

“This whole Zim bounty thing is probably pretty great for you, yeah?” Tak says nothing, so Dib continues. He might as well get some information out of her if he can. “How are you planning on catching Zim?” He mock looks around despite his audience decidedly having their back to him. “I’m not seeing a lot of nets or anything. Just a lot of...guns...” 

“I have a containment bot outside waiting for him.”

“Of course you do.” He breathes to himself. Thankfully, Tak is steadfast in her disinterest in him because the face Dib makes when it finally sinks in what kind of situation they’ve gotten themselves in is an ugly one. He runs his hands through his hair as a nervous current is quick to overtake his thoughts now that there's nothing else to focus on. 

Tak is, historically, good at her job, whatever she chooses that job to be. Her ship was a masterclass in jury rigged artificial intelligence, her SIR-unit is a fantastically modded piece of work, she successfully infiltrated Earth without anyone knowing for a very long time...

The only reason they stopped that situation, and every situation, was plain and simple: Resources. He and Zim and Gaz, by extension, had resources. Zim was reluctantly backed by an entire Armada with seemingly no concept of budget constraints, and the Membrane kids had a dad with more money than sense and unlimited allowance that his accountants just wrote off every quarter for tax purposes. 

God, he hopes Zim brings something more than himself and GIR cause that's a lot of guns on the table in front of Tak. A lot of which he recognizes as several kinds of pain and eviscerating. And he’s seen a few models of containment bots. They’re all sort of the same in form and function; once the target goes in, it’s not coming back out until the alien with the remote wants it to. He doesn’t know what Zim could bring, but fuck, he hopes its something. 

Tak’s had over a fucking year to prepare for this moment and they’ve got what? Zim had a ray gun like a month or two ago, but Dib’s pretty sure GIR ate it. How the fuck are they getting out of this one?

“A year is a long time to make a move…” Dib notes, mostly to cover the sound of his hands feeling along his prison. There’s no seam, no weak point, nothing to shove his hand through. He wants to stand up and test the top, but one side eye to MiMi and he decides against it.

“I’m nothing if not _patient_.” Tak replies distractedly, slamming a piece she had been oiling a little too hard. Fair, but-

“It’s weird." He tries the floor where the light is emanating, but finds nothing of note. MiMi's head twitches his way, and he pulls his hands into his lap. "If Zim had a bounty on him that early, we’d have seen more bounty hunters.” 

“Strange, isn’t _it?_ ” There’s an underlying ire in her voice, irritated and annoyed and Dib can't help himself but jump on it.

“Huh, it’s almost like you came here for something other than a bounty.” Tak says nothing to that, hunching her shoulders. He bites his lip in an effort to not pursue it further, walking a tightrope as it were with MiMi now openly observing him as if waiting for an excuse to shove another wire into his mouth.

His thoughts are racing. If Tak's not here for a bounty, than what does she want? She's been here for a year, perhaps longer, and Zim has been letting his fortifications fall into disrepair long before that. If she wanted the bounty, why wait that long?

Tak continues to ignore him, cleaning her cavalcade of weaponry with lights and points and barrels all laid out on a table before her. She works the same as Zim; honed in on her task, focused until its completion. When one is sufficiently shining to her liking, she presses a button on her wrist and it dematerializes in a bout of pure blue light, save for one taser-esque weapon she slides into a holster on her hip.

As Tak continues her task, she periodically scratches at her neck and face, expression souring with every itch, darkening further when she starts on her chest and abdomen as well. Dib observes this with growing suspicion, taken aback when she pulls out a tube of paste and rubs it into her carapace with an irritated sniff. 

It’s uncomfortable to watch, strangely intimate. It’s unnerving how Dib feels forced to look away until Tak has righted her uniform and gotten back to her task. Some part of him keeps him watching though, a niggling tremor in the back of his head too curious to look away completely.

And when Tak pulls her uniform round the back to reach as much of herself as she can, Dib can see the edge of where her PAK and her carapace meet. Is it a trick of the fluorescent lighting mixing with the contaminant chambers' own illumination or does the flesh underneath the metal seem to bulge?

“Looks like you’re not doing so good there, Tak.” Dib remarks, unable to help himself as she straightens her uniform. She stiffens, claws gripping, all but crushing the sturdy metal of the part she had resumed cleaning. 

“MiMi, if he says one more word before our guest arrives, gag him.”

* * *

“Hm…” Dib glances at Tak, having spent the last twenty minutes in silence trying not to think about how crusty his face feels from the bloodstains, or how grimy his skin feels from the cold concrete, or just how nasty the lingering taste of oil and metal is and how it won’t leave his mouth.

Really, he’d just like some water at this point. And a bath. And a nap. And a heater and actually, he'd just like to be home and not stuck in a tube of light while they wait for his friend-enemy-whatever to walk into a trap. That would be the best.

Tak is staring hard at a holographic viewer coming out of her wrist, pinching and zooming and swiping around what seem to be various video feeds with an increasingly disdainful curl to her mouth. Dib can’t see much from his current and he holds back the obvious question. No one’s here yet and MiMi is still primed to shove something else into his mouth. 

His captor stands, the chair scraping annoyingly on the concrete. She closes the viewer and fingers the alien taser at her hip before picking up what suspiciously looks like a remote from the edge of the worktable. Wordlessly, she fixes her posture, brushes the wrinkles from her uniform, and marches out of the shed, slamming the door behind her. 

Dib lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Carefully, he stands, knees cracking, taking his glasses off and cleaning them as best he can again to scan the room. There’s nothing obvious around to help and as he reaches up to test the top of the prison for weak points, he spots a green rod left on the worktable. It’s unassuming in nature, but given how most alien tech works, it could do literally anything. 

If he could get to that...

The door to the shed reopens, and Dib is quick to act unassuming. Tak seems pensive as she reenters, clearly not noticing that Dib is both now standing and fidgeting anxiously.

“Your sister is here.” She announces after she closes the door, coming to a halt in the middle of the shed and crossing her arms again.

“Oh.” Dib replies dumbly, warm relief and cold shock of instinctual guilty fear curdling somewhere in his lower back. The shed rocks as something large and heavy is thrown into it. Dib swallows. “So the robot thing wasn’t going to work then.” 

Tak’s frown deepens as a telltale shattering of glass bursts off outside. The anxiety he’s been ignoring that’s had his insides in a vice grip for the past forty minutes is uncomfortably loosened and replaced by a more primal dread. Gaz is probably on the brink of a full-on outburst if she’s here, out in the forest, with Zim. 

That's a bit of a more worrying picture than Tak and all of her tech could ever be.

“I’m becoming more aware of that by the second.” Tak takes in the shed curiously as the very atmosphere begins to shift in the room. Color seems to drain from the air as the bright afternoon starts to fade into premature twilight. What little heat there was is rapidly replaced by an unnatural icy chill and each puff of air from Dib’s mouth turns to mist as it hits the outside.

The door blows open, knocked off one of its hinges, revealing Gaz, pissed as hell and purple hair a mess. Her fists are clenched and Dib immediately wants to cower. She stomps over to Dib, shoulders square, ignoring Tak in her single-minded purpose, not even bothering to grant her a glance as she passes. Dib squirms. 

“Hey, Gaz.” He starts, shirt brushing the metal wall behind him as he instinctively steps back “Long time no s-” He flinches when her hand smacks itself to the physical light around him, which dims gradually under her touch. Gaz’s face is dark in what only can be described as pure, unadulterated rage and Dib would love to be anywhere but here.

“You and your dumb alien are absolutely fucked the moment we get out of here.” She threatens in a low voice, staring him hard in the eye. Dib starts to nod, cold sweat forming on the nape of his neck. He can’t hold her gaze, glancing furtively around and immediately becoming distracted by the figure just barely visible behind his sister. Gaz notes he isn't paying her any attention any more as the figure moves closer. "What are you looking a-"

A sharp violent crackle and Gaz’s eyes widen as she huffs a cut off noise before they roll to the back of her head. She falls to the floor, twitching, and Tak lowers her arm, turning off the alien taser in her hand apathetically as she observes Gaz going limp on the floor.

“Jesus Christ!” Dib shouts and he presses forward, slamming his fists into the renewed prison. She’s just laying there, on her side, prone, vulnerable and Dib thinks his lungs might explode for how fast he’s started breathing. 

He’s seen Gaz asleep, sure. He’s seen her hurt, yes. Never like this, never has anyone in every situation they’ve gotten in gotten the drop on her like this and she isn’t _moving-_

“She’s fine.” Tak assures. She fiddles the intensity on the taser before she resheathes the weapon and continues to take in the prone person at both their feet with genuine interest. “Unfortunately for her, I did a little _research_ in case she made an appearance and I can’t risk _that_ getting in my way now.” Tak sniffs, beginning to turn towards the ruined door. “Now where that id-” 

"TAK!"

The speed at which Zim full body tackles Tak is both surprising and frightening. They hit the worktable, sending it skittering to its side as the rod rolls away and the two struggle against one another. Dib can barely keep track of who's who as they both vie for the upperhand. Tak is quick but now Zim has a clear size advantage.

Zim gets Tak under him, balancing on his back legs, bringing his right arm up and slamming his wrist right to her chest without hesitation and with a clear triumphant glee. She wheezes and Zim draws his hand back, confused for a moment as there is no wound until he looks at the nub where the spike had been.

"Oh," He draws back, poking the minuscule nub and Tak's eyes widen as she realizes what he almost did. "Heh, right." 

"Idiot!" It's enough for Tak to get two of her auxiliary legs out from under her, shoving Zim off with them planted to his chest. He snarls as he is thrown away, landing full bodied with a crunch to the floor. 

The difference between them is staggering to behold as Zim scrambles to his feet, legs spread out to encompass half the shed while Tak struggles to get her other back legs out of her PAK. Zim launches himself at her again, misjudging his own stature and larger body as Tak easily side-steps him and climbs onto his back, grabbing onto a few of the sensitive thick hairs. She yanks at them as he reaches back toward her, pulling them free as Zim screeches in agony. 

If Dib hadn’t known either of them, he wouldn’t be hard to convince they were different species. 

Tak gets a back leg to her face, being tossed aside as Zim quivers and chitters. Tak is quick to approach again, but she barely makes it past one trembling leg before Zim has recovered with a missed swipe of his one good wrist spike.

"Master's making friends." GIR sighs, and Dib jumps as he didn't notice the robot getting anywhere near, too lost in the Irken squabbling. GIR starts sniffing. “I’m...so proud.” 

“GIR,” he starts, leaning into the light and placing a hand gently on it. He has a chance, finally. “Hey, listen,” the robot turns to him, head to the side in clear interest, “There’s a switch over on the wall. You gotta pull it.” GIR glances over, gaze landing on the very device. He points to it as his master and Tak grapple each other’s legs, spitting in a mix of English and Irken. “Yeah, that one. Pull the switch, GIR.”

GIR takes a step, and then another, Zim snarling something about Tak’s ‘awful coat’ while Dib is almost pressing his face to the glowing barrier. He’s so close. If this one thing can go his way, Dib can grab that rod, help Zim, get this situation under some kind of control...

GIR passes Dib, rounding the ovular prison, with all the hurry of molasses and Dib continues a whispered litany of ‘come on come on come on’, heart pounding out his ribcage as Tak lands a solid hit on Zim, forcing him to land on his back with a hiss. Closer, reaching out to the switch, GIR just brushes it.

Cables whip out from the other side of the prison, MiMi activating as GIR touches its charge. 

“Oh, come on!” Dib shouts as they encase GIR, looping around the mad giggling robot, halting his egress and dragging him toward MiMi, metal head scraping horridly against the floor. Dib half-heartedly bangs his fist into the light wall, his frustration lost in the cacophony of screeching Irkens and cackling robots. 

Another buzz, lower in tone, bursts through the noise, and Dib whips his head up, just in time to see Tak over Zim on the left side of the shed, that taser in her hand and the other alien smoking and limp on the floor. 

“My body!” Zim shrieks when he recovers, twisting his head this way and that, but every other part of him is still. “It is **motionless**!” Tak straightens up, towering over him, malicious triumph written in the way she sneers down at him.

Dib’s heart sinks as Tak stands victorious. She’s won. There’s nothing between her and Zim now.

“Finally,” She sheaths the device once more, catching her breath as Zim continues to spit his weird noises. “We can-” 

“What have...eeehhhh you... _you_ DONE to the body of _Zim_?” He interrupts, barely coherent. Tak rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Temporary paralysis,” Tak snaps, waving it away, “but that’s not important right now. Listen-” 

“You’ll never turn me in for the bounty, **Tak** !” It could be assumed he’s trying to bite her, with how he lunges his mouth uselessly at her legs. Tak starts to speak, but Zim barrels ahead. “Heh, as soon as I can... **move** , Zim will escape your SLIMY clutches-”

“List-”

“And you will know my WRATH **TAK!** ”

Tak lunges, grabbing his front against shoving him against the wall with a bang, lip curled.

“ _Listen._ ” He opens his mouth to spew a reply, but she grabs his cheeks in her claws, squeezing. “ _Listen to me_ ,” She hisses, and Zim shuts his trap much to everyone’s surprise but Tak’s. She lets go, standing back up, collecting herself and regarding Zim with so much palpable malice and disdain, it’s nearly nauseating. “I’m not here for your bounty.” 

She lets her words sink in, let’s Zim’s antennae perk up and head cock in confusion. 

“I knew it!" Dib cries, unable to hold it in, and Tak tosses a queer glance his way as if she had forgotten he was here. "Sorry."

“It would be so _easy_ to take you back to Irk,” She continues, turning her eyes back to Zim, teeth gritted. “To get my reward and place back in the Armada, but I ne-... _want_ something else from you, Zim.” She narrows her eyes as though it’s taking every ounce of willpower to not crush him over her boot. “You, a defective, worthless smeet of a traitorous liar did the impossible. You survived _pupation_.”

She says the word like it leaves a horrid taste on her tongue. Zim blinks at her before bursting into laughter. 

“Ho! The Tak has gone _insane_!” He decries and Tak shakes her head. She steps away toward the table again, mouth a thin line. She grabs the cleaning cloth from where it fell to the floor, crumbling it in her hand as she walks back to Zim. “You’re stupid mouth words mean NOTHING to Z-”

Without preamble, Tak grabs Zim’s antennae in one hand, yanking his head back at shoving the dirtied cloth between his teeth. Zim tosses his head, gnashing and screaming through the make-shift gag. 

“Allow me to elaborate for your _empty-”_ She prods him painfully in the forehead, Zim shakes her off with a muffled grunt. “mind, Zim. Maybe you’ll get it then.” Tak moves back to the middle of the room, fiddling with her wrist as larger holo-view screens come into existence with various diagrams of Irkens anatomy and the PAK itself from some unseen device in the floor. 

Like all good Invaders, she’s made the Irken equivalent of a powerpoint. Dib wants to laugh, but he knows he’s next on the forcibly gag list.

“Irkens aren’t meant to be like this, not originally.” She’s gesturing to the screens, maliciously like some extremely-offended teacher in front of a class of vindictive five year olds. “The PAKs are made specifically to hinder the final stages of a metamorphosis while imitating it. Their placement keeps a secondary brain from forming while a signal emanating from the Control Brains keeps specific hormones in check to keep us locked in perpetual state, just on the cusp of pupation, mature enough to think and fight, yet young enough to follow orders as blindly as they would like.”

She goes back to Zim, crossing the shed in just a few dramatic strides.

“When you destroyed Salt and the Control Brain on it-”

“There’s a planet called ‘Salt’?” Dib blurts out. It’s par for the course considering Irken naming conventions. Tak gives him a look and his mouth clicks shut.

“When they _excised_ you, Zim, they shut that signal down, cut you off. You-” She prods him in the chest with her boot, “were supposed to die, Zim, die in the most agonizing _horrible_ way possible as your body suffered an incomplete pupation, as you mutated and grew out of the PAK with a shrunken second brain and your body slowly gave out under the toxicity of your own blood. The ultimate death sentence for a traitor to the Armada. 

“I came to watch. I wanted to see you suffer in a way I could never make you suffer, watch you slowly drown under your own self-destroying body, but you didn’t. You. **Lived**.” She presses down with her boot into his sternum, letting him wheeze under the pressure. “And the Control Brains noticed. Nine months and your signal still hadn’t petered out; you were going just as strong as ever. It was obvious to them what was happening. You’re worth nothing as you were but you'd be infinitely valuable if you matured completely; one of the only modern Irkens to survive pupation unassisted.

“They sent out feelers after your signal refused to end, bounties left in the seediest of places to ensure no good Irken would see, would wonder why the Armada wanted the traitor back. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let them **_take_ ** my once chance, so I stayed. I watched over your disgusting metamorphosis, killed every bounty hunter I could reach without giving myself away, let you _live_ uncontested in the small hope that like every good cockroach, you would survive. 

“And you did.” She takes her foot off his chest. Zim coughs, eyes wide and confused. “And I want that. So I’m going to give you an offer Zim: you come with me and I take you to someone to study you to figure out how you made it, or I leave you on this rock to fend for yourself.”

Dib’s gut goes to his throat as Tak words echo in his head. Everything Zim’s been going through, everything that’s been happening, the bodies they’ve found of aliens left like warnings...

Tak pulls the cloth from between Zim’s teeth, reveling in him gagging and coughing from its absence.

“What is in it for Zim?” Zim spits after a moment, “I have everything you want, _Tak_ . Do you think me, ME, **stupid** enough to go with you?” Tak smiles, all teeth, before bursting into her manic laughter. She crouches over him, grabbing his chin to force him to hold her eyes when she’s regained some composure.

“More hunters are coming.” She all but whispers, “You dealt with what, two of them?” She roughly lets go of him, stepping away again and tapping on her wrist. The view screens shift, loading. “I killed 24.” She taps again; video feeds and photos of several of them outside of Zim’s base and Dib’s apartment pulling up. Some just on the street, some in Zim’s yard, a few, disturbingly, hanging off of Dib’s windowsill. 

“You have no idea how close some of them came.” She stops on one infrared video, timestamp at three in the morning, in what appears to be Dib’s bathroom of all places. There’s something sickening seeing himself yawn, wandering in without turning on the lights, more so when current Dib notices, his stomach dropping, the amorphous hotspot in what should be his empty shower. 

Holy shit.

“Why would that be at my place?” Dib mutters to himself but Tak picks it up.

“You’re a spot of high activity for their bounty in a seemingly unprotected location.” Dib’s mouth dries even more, feeling cold, ashamed. That should've been more obvious. He should’ve been more careful, should've kept Zim away, but like always he just didn't think about it, too caught up in his own needy bullshit to think maybe some time apart would be good. “Why wouldn’t they flock to you?”

Tak leaves him in his shame, fixing Zim with a pitying glare. 

“Do you think you’re equipped to deal with them without me? What about when the bounty escalates and more talented hunters come out of the meteor fields? What about when the Control Brains get fed up and start sending elite soldiers? What will you do then Zim?” She gestures to Dib to the left of her. “Your human plaything is sure to get caught in the cross-fire again, and when he’s gone and you’ve been caught, you’ll be spending the rest of your miserable worthless life being ripped apart over and over and over and **over** again until the Control Brains find whatever defected piece helped you to survive.

“You can’t even best me when you have the upper hand. Without me, you’ll soon be all alone, Zim, no one left willing and capable to keep you alive. You have what I _want_ , but I have what you **need**.”

Tak looks at Dib again, just as he opens his mouth to point out the way the bottom right auxiliary leg is still poking out of its hole. There’s a warning in her eyes, and Dib toys with the words he wants to shout. She can’t stop him quick enough not to tip Zim off.

But should he? Letting her confession bounce around, Dib hesitates. Tak isn’t wrong. They have nothing; no way of stopping a hoard of aliens, no way of escaping Earth, no way of permanently keeping Zim from his would-be captors. If Tak is right, if Zim has somehow miraculously lived through a court ordered death sentence, if Zim is now exhibiting a prohibited form of growth that his highly militant race has stifled for the purpose of order, then Tak might be the right option. She might be Zim’s only chance at surviving. 

And if Tak is going through the same thing Zim is, if she is beginning to pupate, then she has a vested interest in keeping Zim alive.

“Zim,” Dib starts with some difficulty. Zim flops his head Dib’s way, curious and brow pinched. Dib catches Tak’s eye, the warning still present, the order for MiMi to silence him still on the tip of her tongue. He nods at her. 

“This… she- _beast_ is lying!” Zim’s outburst lacks conviction. He is searching Dib’s face for any facet of doubt, for a way to move forward, for any sign of solidarity in his disbelief. When he finds a grim resolve instead, his antennae drop to his neck. “Is she not?”

“No, look, Zim,” He doesn’t know quite how to say it. “You-”

The piercing whine of a high speed air vehicle rocks the walls of the shed, effectively masking the rest of Dib’s sentence. It fades into the distance, everyone who is still conscious staring at the ceiling, breath held. 

“What is that?” Dib asks no one in particular after a moment as Tak scowls, rapidly swiping through screens on her wrist. 

“They shouldn’t be here.” She hisses, and anxiety winds its way back into Dib’s chest.

“You knew _they_ were coming?” Dib’s voice hits an unusually high pitch as Tak shuffles through the mess on the floor.

“How incompetent do you think I am? I’ve been tracking every ship that enters this star system, let alone this planet’s orbit.” She grabs a circular device that she plugs into her chest, a spider’s web of light encircling her torso and arms before fading into nothing. “It’s why I made this base, far enough from where Zim’s PAK location usually pings. Since he doesn’t have it on him anymore, there’s reason they should…”

She trails off, side-eying Zim who is still miserably limp on the floor. He catches her attention fully, her expression darkening as she alights upon the bulky, inelegant device on his own wrist. 

“What is that?” She demands in accusation, rounding on him.

“A testament to my GENIUS.” He would wave his arm in smug narcissism, but his arm doesn’t even twitch when he tries. “I have condensed the most useful features of the **PAK** into a more portable device befitting my _superior_ fo-”

“And you included the _tracking device?”_ Tak shouts, followed by the unmistakable quake of a ship landing close by that sends Dib stumbling into the sheet metal behind him. A quiet follows, all of them still as they listen for anything. 

Was the snapping of branches an alien mercenary or a inconsequential squirrel?

“No matter.” Tak starts under her breath, smoothing her antennae over her head. From her own wrist, she re-materializes a raygun, arming it and holding it with precision. With a jerk of her head and a whistle, MiMi lets go of GIR, the robot at it’s master’s side in a moment. “A demonstration, perhaps-” A snap of her fingers, and the viewscreen widens, showcasing live video feed of the front of the shed, where no less than three figures slowly approach the front, weapons drawn. 

“Of what I can offer.” She motions to the screen, just as the middle figure takes a step too far forward and Tak thumbs a pattern into her wrist device. They hear the detonation before they see it, deafening as the hunter is sent scattered in a cloud of dirt and pieces of themselves. Tak grins maliciously, stepping out into clearing and out of the shed.

The lazer fire and screams begin immediately, a cacophony of violence as Tak takes out the two surprised mercs with precision before disappearing into the treeline after presumably more.

Dib lets his forehead hit the light wall with a sonorous thud. If Zim agrees, there’s no telling what will happen and it's not like Tak has suddenly stopped hating him. Alone, on a ship, in space with the one competent person who’s sworn vengeance on him isn't great but what other option is there?

Belatedly, Dib realizes that this is the first time they've been alone since Zim getting here, hell since they had their intimate 'encounter'. There's a lot he could say, should say, especially if this all goes south. Depending on Tak's plan, this could be their last time talking face to face.

“You’re so fucked, Zim.” He's never been good with words. Zim twists his head in Dib’s direction, full of offense.

“Zim?” He starts, practically vibrating righteous indignation. “The Dib is here as well!” 

“Yeah, but I didn’t go through an unorthodox metamorphosis-”

“Which the stink-beast has been there for entirely.”

“Nor do I have bounty on my _head_ because my leaders are fucking pissed about the metamorphosis thing-”

“As the _delirious_ Tak has stated, you are an **accessory** to.”

“I also don’t have the world’s most vengeful Irken actively trying to kidnap me into space!” Zim sneers at that, eyes glittering.

“And yet here you are.” Dib sighs, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

“I guess I am.” He pushes up his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose, hissing as the pain reminds him fiercely that it's very bruised. He pulls his hand away, trying to not scrunch his nose at the residual sting and examining his fingers for any fresh blood.

“The Dib-beast is...okay?” 

It’s a quiet question, innocuous really, and if the firefight from outside hadn’t died down for the moment, Dib wouldn’t have heard it. Dib starts to nod out of reflex, but catches himself when the words register fully. Zim is searching him as best he can from across the room, brows knitted in what could almost be called concern. 

“Yeah,” He says, as if in a daze, something aching in him as the need to reach out past his confines, to even just touch Zim begins to overwhelm him. He places a palm flat, fingers spread against the static rumble of the light walls around him, swallowing. “I’m...fine.”

A stick, some leaves, a bone, it doesn’t matter, but something snaps audibly outside and they both turn to the window to the left of Dib’s prison. A shadow looms behind the warped glass and they both jump when something bangs purposefully into the glass. Dib and Zim's eyes meet, a moment of nonverbal understand between them.

“Zim is still...STUCK.” He whispers, tossing his head with a huff, eyes wild and desperate. Dib licks his dry lips, scanning the room for anything. GIR is still on the floor, motionless.

Another smack into the window, harder this time. 

“GIR.” Dib says, quiet and calm as he can. The robot’s head pops up immediately. So he’s fine.

“Hello!” GIR sings, backflipping to his feet. _Thump._ Dib shushes him.

“I need you to hit that switch right the fuck now.” He orders softly.

“Do it, GIR!” Zim adds urgently, similarly quiet. _Thump._

GIR salutes, squeaking over to the switch. It's not that high up, but GIR's diminutive height has him reaching on the tips of his cylindrical feet.

 _Thump_.

"You can do it, GIR," The robot's hand brushes it. _Thump_. "Just a little more." 

GIR jumps, grabbing onto the switch, yanking it down as the fake window is smashed into the shed, skittering across the concrete and smacking into the opposite wall. The physical light prison vanishes and Dib dives behind the overturned able as the black clad, eight legged reptilian alien slinks in through the opening.

It pauses when it’s feet alight upon the floor, broad yet small, head being lifted from the ground along with its neck and chest as it listens to the screams and shouts of its fellows at the hands of Tak. It scans the room with deep yellow eyes, ignoring the table and the SIR-unit rolling around on the floor before stepping over Gaz to Zim who continues to lay slumped and snarling. 

“Do not touch Zim!” He growls as the hunter kneels down, pulling out a datapad and hissing when the image on the screen matches the Irken below.

Dib gently, carefully gets to his knees. As the merc is distracted testing Zim’s current paralysis, he fumbles for the rod, pausing every second to make sure he is still unseen. Once the tool is in his hand, Dib immediately alights upon the ‘on’ button and the end lights up with an angry red sharp tip in a loud snap.

He ducks as the alien shifts, scanning over its shoulder and freezing as the fight outside ramps up in intensity again. Dib can’t see the viewscreen from behind the table but he can safely assume Tak has found the other mercs. Something explodes, deafening even at such a distance. 

Dib creeps out from behind the table, the merc once again blessedly still distracted by Zim’s. The Irken notices him, sneering and getting louder to help aid in masking Dib’s footsteps. If he can just get close enough…

After a bit of prodding and Zim desperately trying to bite the fingers poking him, the merc chatters something into an earpiece. It grabs Zim’s front, beginning to drag the all but howling Irken backwards with some difficulty. Dib pauses, waiting for the alien to shift itself closer before he continues to tiptoe, tightening his grip on the fizzling instrument, breath resounding in his ears with every stuttered exhale.

“UNHAND ME WITH YOUR-” The merc stops, chirping to itself in a frustration as it tries to rearrange the awkward mess of limbs that Zim has become. “ **FILTHY** CLAWS. I’LL PUT YOUR HEAD-” Closer still, Dib raises the weapon above his head, the world stilling around him as everything zones in on the central point of mass among the alien’s broad dark back. “IN SPACE!”

Sensing something isn’t right, the merc turns to glance over its slim shoulders just as Dib brings the rod straight into it’s back.

The sound makes him want to vomit; not so much for the actual noise of the rod piercing and tearing into the alien’s back nor how its heated tip burns away muscle and tendon, but for choked inhale as the merc fails to take in air as its body reacts to the intrusion. Two arms start to reach back, and Dib pulls the rod out only to stab it into the alien again, bile rising into his throat as the scent of chemically burnt innards wafts from the wounds. 

There’s no fight, no scuffle, just the alien collapsing under its own weight as its life putters out. Dib lets go of the rod as it slips from his sweaty palms, stepping back, blinking. He’s out of breath, shaking, and he wrings his hands, unable to get the feeling of stabbing someone that has wormed its way into his skin. 

He hasn’t done something like this in a while. Might take a second to get over it, to shake off how his head is nothing but droning white noise as he continues to watch the body for any movement, to convince himself he isn’t covered in the dark navy blood seeping from the wounds he inflicted...

“Help your prospective overlord, worm **boy**!” Zim shouts from under the alien, snapping Dib from his state.

“Shit.” He pulls the body off Zim, rolling it to the side and immediately dropping to his knees next to the prone Irken. Zim is laid out, flat on his back, legs and secondary brain potentially crushed beneath him. “Shit. Are you-” 

“If the _Dib_ asks me if I am ‘okay’, he will be tasting his own _eyeballs for a_ **_week_ ** !” Zim threatens, speaking into Dib’s neck as he is pulled forward so his legs and back can be examined better. Dib checks him over, relieved when nothing seems broken or burst. “Do you think me so **fragile?** ” It comes out muffled, vibrating into Dib’s shoulder as he holds Zim to his chest. 

Whatever weight, whatever anxiety leaves him at once when he accepts that Zim is fine. Temporarily paralyzed, sure, but nothing’s broken, nothing’s leaking, the firefight outside has died down, and he's fine. They’re _fine._

He hugs Zim tighter, pressing his nose to the junction of his neck and shoulder, just kneeling there and breathing Zim in. His hand cups Zim’s head, antenna between his fingers and he secretly delights in the way they flutter against his skin. The alien grumbles, but it lacks his usual fire and he settles into the embrace without much complaint. He doesn’t smell unique in any way; just the dust of the shed, the general scent of the woods, and the undertones of whatever sterilization procedure he does every day.

But he’s warm, pleasantly so in the rapidly cooling early November evening. His carapace has a soft smoothness to it that is addictively enjoyable against his face. Zim mutters something about ‘scratchy’, but doesn’t move his head away when Dib rubs his cheek against his skin. The force that the realization they’ve never done this before hits him with is enough to send his heart into a tizzy, stifling a grin as he is overcome with elation. 

“Too tight.” Zim gasps, though there’s no vitriol behind it. Dib pulls back, giving in to the overwhelming want to brush his lips to Zim’s cheek before fully giving the alien room to breathe. He mutters an apology, flushing horridly when he sees Zim’s curled lip and pinched expression.

“What?” He asks after a minute of Zim just staring at him, face becoming increasingly more frustrated.

“That’s it?” Zim snaps in disbelief, starting to wiggle as the paralysis begins to ebb away. 

“What’s it?” He asks again, dumbfounded.

“Whatever it is-” Gaz groans from the floor. Dib’s head whips around to check over his sister, who’s just begun blinking again. “I don’t wanna fucking see it.”

* * *

_I have informed Tak I will be agreeing_ **_tentatively_ ** _to her offer._

 _With my IMMENSE._ _BRAIN. I_ _have gone over her plan, and have decided that despite the_ **_awful_ ** **burning** **_hatred_ ** _Tak harbors for Zim, she is my best bet for surviving. There are other Irkens who have attempted to or completed this_ **_pupation_ ** _... thing and survived through more mechanical means, unlike Zim, of course, making it through_ **_unassisted._ **

**_I am PERFECT._ **

_Tak believes that whatever kept me alive could be exploited for other Irkens in the midst of this process. I could not care less. All I require is some form of safety until I can amass enough resources and information to_ **_eradicate_ ** _whatever Control Brain gave the order for my_ **_execution_ ** _._

 _They will know the wrath of_ ZIM.

 _And if there are others who wish to help me in exchange for easing their_ **_worthless_ ** _lives, then perhaps this will be more worth my time._

_We still have a few weeks left before leaving this FILTHY. DIRT. BALL. Gives Zim enough time to pack as needed. So many things._

_I will REQUIRE THEM._

_After everything that happened, the Dib was emotional as his_ **_weak_ ** _species often is. His grabby hands and needy need...ness were attentive to check on Zim as though I am some sort of soft smeet. My carapace is well hardened. Even the new bits. One_ **_disgusting_ ** _bounty hunter landing on Zim is not enough to burst me._

_He’s so...touchy. The stink-beast felt compelled to...guh, **hold** Zim for an extended amount of time. _

_He was SWEATY. And STINKY. And his_ **_horrid_ ** _face hairs were scratchy. Oh, so_ **_scratchy_ ** _. I only allowed this to happen as it was cold and the human was so very-_

_WARM._

_Yes, warm. This is the only reason._

_When he finally DETACHED himself from me, I was certain he would...like the fake humans do in those **wretched** shows GIR consumes... _

_Hmm._

_He did do the... **thing**. On my face but not… _

_NO MATTER._

_There will be time, still._

_I do not plan on leaving without h_


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Tags have been updated.

_So much packing. When did Zim accrue so much STUFF? It’s GIR isn’t it? That cursed robot. Always bringing_ **_useless. THINGS._ ** _Home after his many outings. And if I try to get rid of such TRASH, he_ **_screams_ ** _._

**_Why does he scream?_ **

_And Tak. Horrible._ **_Awful._ ** _TAK. Giving me, ME, so few transport cubes in order to carry my_ many things _. I need my things._ **_Precious wonderful things._ **

_Time has not changed Tak either. She is just as TERRIBLE and irksome as before, and she, SHE has banned Zim from her workspace like some kind of awful...breaking...thing...._

_WHO DOES SHE THINK SHE IS? I am_ **_amazing_ ** _and could fix anything I may or may not have broken. WHICH Tak could never PROVE. Why does she wish to blame Zim for such unprovable things?_

 _As_ **_annoying_ ** _as this packing and Tak-ness is, it is nothing in comparison to my new...parts. It seems this wiggly genital is AWFUL. I cannot get it to come out again, no matter how_ **_twitchy_ ** _it gets. It just...wiggles...and HURTS inside ME. Attempting some of the same motions as Zim did with the stink-worm proves only FRUSTRATING. It was fine for a few days after but now it's…_

_Needy._

_And the Dib makes it worse with his_ presence _so much so I have avoided the fool boy as much as possible. Thankfully, he is distracted as the Tak is utilizing him but he is getting suspicious. I can feel in my slippery perfect BONES. Zim will not be distracted at this juncture! I will learn what this… THING requires from me without the Dib._

_And then I shall include the Dib. Yes. **G** **enius**. _

* * *

One week, and it almost feels like things have gone back to normal. Almost. 

Gaz is pissed at Dib, as usual. She even decked him in the eye after the whole Tak incident, citing that he had ‘made her late for her stream’, which, while fair, Dib knows it's really because he was mildly responsible for getting knocked out by an alien taser. He’s sent an apology text every morning, and he's certain she’ll crack eventually. Gaz isn’t going to let him leave Earth for good without at least one final punch to the arm. 

In the meantime, Dib’s been helping Tak repair and spruce up anything on her ship that’s fallen to the wayside in preparation, and, in all honesty, he’s been enjoying it. Tak, while still abrasive with that militaristic ‘follow my orders without question’, is easy to work with and generally accommodating. They chat while working, and it’s as if no time or antagonistic altercation had passed since they’d last had a pleasant exchange when Tak first came to Earth. 

It’s nice to have someone you can talk to about the weird shit you’ve been up to who won’t look at you like you’re an insane person who isn’t your sister or Zim.

Along with that, Dib has found himself sinking back into the manual and mental labor of general repair work with an ecstatic ease. He used to do this shit all the time; fixing weird alien tech to fight Zim or to just brag about to Gaz, but that had all come to an abrupt halt. After everything that had happened with his dad, Dib had felt this intrinsic, rebellious need to leave it all behind, to bury whatever he couldn’t separate from what was genuinely Dib and what was Membrane. In doing so, in trying to reinvent himself, he left behind the few things that he genuinely enjoyed.

It's par for the course that it took a four foot tall green alien barking orders at him to weld a chair back into an escape pod to have that personal revelation on a chilly Tuesday morning, but, hey, Dib’s used to it.

No, that’s all been good and what Dib would confidently label as normal. What hasn’t been normal is, of course, Zim. 

He’s been...nervous for a lack of a better term. Jumpy. Barely staying in a room with Dib alone for longer than the barest minimum before he goes looking for a buddy (usually GIR though Tak has served this purpose exactly twice in the intervening week and both times had ended with Zim getting squirted by a water gun Tak had started keeping on hand for such occasions). At first, Dib could shrug it off as Zim being busy or just being Zim for lack of a better term, but the more it’s happened...

Look, Dib can’t really stop himself from being a little hurt. They’re leaving, for space, in like two weeks. They’re going to be stuck on a ship together, with TAK and the two SIR units, for months on end. They still haven’t ‘talked’ about what happened, and, while he gets that, how can they figure anything out if Zim is keeping his at literal arm’s length?

“Are you getting anything?” His arms are starting to shake from awkwardly holding two wires together above and just behind his head. Dib is under a spare food replicator that Tak has let fall to the wayside over the years. They’ve been trying to get it to respond all morning. He’s sweating, covered in dust and grime from sliding under and out of the thing for hours, and with Zim in the back of his mind all morning, he hasn’t been much help.

“You would have heard something if I was, _Dib_.” Tak answers, clearly irritated, tapping away at the device’s keyboard with a gusto. She growls and Dib is certain his arms are going to give out any second now. He’s been holding this awkward angle for at least ten minutes. Above him, Tak sighs. “It’s not working. We’ll have to try again later.” 

“Thank fuck.” Dib exhales a massive gust of air, letting his elbows drop and his head hit the floor. His forearms feel like jelly. There’s some grumbling as Dib catches his breath, waiting for the buzzing in his limbs to abate. He hears Tak’s boots hit the concrete, digital ticks of her fiddling with a datapad, and a general growl of frustration that Dib feels in his bones. “Do we really need a second food thing?” 

“You are more than welcome to try and fix the working one if it goes down when we're weeks away from any habitable planets with Zim and his _horrible_ SIR whining in the background.” 

“Fair enough.” He gets his breathing under control, arms still tingly sore, and starts the arduous journey of scooting himself out from under the machine. 

Or at least he was until the door crashed open.

“ _Tak_.” Dib’s head whips up too fast, smacking his forehead into the metal above him. He cusses, groaning and pressing the heel of his palm to it. He’s going to have another bruise. His arms and hands are already marked up from being a clumsy fuck around power tools again so it’s just getting added to the list.

“Zim-” Tak starts off, voice tight like her teen are gritted, ignoring the ruckus under her equipment. “What have I _told_ you about dropping into my workspace _unan_ ** _nounced_ ** _?_ ” 

“Eh? Yes, yes, Zim has graced you with my presence and brilliance-” Dib can almost taste Tak’s patience being tested. “But that’s not important right now. I REQUIRE MORE PACKING CUBES.” 

“For what?” Tak is incredulous. “You’re taking essentials, not your entire _useless base!_ ” 

“The **pitiful** amount of cubes you handed Zim was only enough for my _precious things_ . GIR must also pack or he will SCREAM. _Oh, will he scream_.” There’s a moment of silence, and Dib can only imagine the expression on TAk’s face.

“You cannot be-” 

“Such **screaming!** ” Zim assures, **“Like your pathetic tubes have never** **_heard_ ** **!** ” 

“Enough! If I give you more cubes, will you leave?” Dib pushes himself out from under the machine in time to see Tak stomping out of the room. Zim must have nodded in the affirmative. Tak stops just as she exits, threateningly pointing as Zim who is standing nearby, dumbly. “Don’t.” She pokes him in the chest. “Touch anything.”

The door slams and Zim makes a face at the space where Tak had been. Dib rolls his eyes and stands, ears ringing from the sudden change in orientation and the pain still in his forehead.

“Hey.” He says, immediately starting to stretch the kinks out of his back and shifting his shoulders to get the blood flowing again. Zim stiffens, back legs cracking as if he’s planning on bolting. Zim looks good, in a black long sleeved thing that allows his secondary brain and legs breathing room. The few sensitive hairs on the back of his neck and shoulders rise with his antennae. 

“You!” He points, and Dib drops his arms to his side with a tired sigh. “Zim did not expect to see you here. With **Tak**!”

“I told you I was fixing the ship with her!” He indicates the defunct food replicator behind him to illustrate his point. When Zim balks, Dib shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and taking off his glasses to try and wipe some of the grime off the lenses with the hem of his shirt. “It’s not my fault you don’t listen to a single fucking thing anyone says.” 

Zim splutters, but, ironically, Dib barely hears it. There must be some oil or something on the lenses because as he checks them, they’re still unclear. He shrugs it off, pulling his shirt up to wipe dirt and sweat he can feel drying on his forehead. As fulfilling as it is to do Tak’s dirty work, doing it in the overheated underground workshop she has means he’s about to burst from personal discomfort by the time he gets home for the day. 

It becomes abundantly clear Zim has stopped griping, and when Dib slides his glasses back into place, wiping down his chin and neck a bit, it becomes even more clear he’s being stared at. 

Hard. 

“What?” He drops his shirt. Zim follows it, tracking the way the top falls bunched around his waist and leaves a strip of skin exposed. Dib holds off on fixing it, some idiot part of his reptilian hindbrain enjoying the way he’s being glared at.

Zim’s back legs unfold, lifting the Irken into the air as he continues his leering. There’s something to be said about being wanted, about the way Zim steps forward, silent, expression unreadable, and how it burns under Dib’s skin like static. There’s nowhere to go as Dib instinctively backs up from Zim’s stalking, the machinery behind him stopping his egress, and he can do nothing but stand and wait, halfway between turned on and ready to make a run for the door. 

The space between them is closed in a second, and Dib barely has a second to breathe let alone shout as he is lifted into the air and pressed into the replicator. Two of Zim’s back legs hold him up, their small talons sharp as they dig into his shoulders. Zim presses them together, greedy claws shoving their way under Dib’s shirt to run up his spine to his shoulders. Trilling, he presses his face to Dib’s neck who stiffens as the Irken’s tongue tastes along his neck..

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” Dib murmurs, enjoying the attention more than he should. Antennae brush against his temple as they stand to attention. Zim freezes in his ministrations, his chirping ending abruptly and Dib nearly kicks himself for saying anything. 

Dib falls to the floor as Zim moves away suddenly, leaving him to land on unsteady legs. He’s too light, too airy, wants to drop to his knees and beg to be pinned and felt up some more. The genuine fear in Zim’s open mouth expression keeps Dib’s lips shut though. 

“Zim is…” He fights to find the words, tripping over himself to put as much distance between the two of them as he can, “FINE. PERFECT.” Dib straightens his shirt. Zim’s eyes keep darting down to watch the action despite himself. 

“Uh huh.” Dib says, unconvinced as ever.

“Do not question me, pathetic Dib-thing! There is nothing wrong with Zim or my...wiggly….THING.” Dib raises an eyebrow to that, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Alright, spit it out. What’s going on with your di-”

“It’s!” Zim struggles for whatever half-assed assurance he’s going to spout off. “...where it SHOULD BE. INSIDE. And not _coming out_ , no matter what Zim attempts. Oh, has Zim attempted…” Dib blinks, brow furrowing. Has he…?

“You haven’t been able to jerk off?” Zim scrunches the middle of his face, offended Dib would even suggest such a thing.

“Ech! Disgusting!” He starts to walk toward Dib absentmindedly, gesturing in his offense. “To think an Irken would do something so... **revolting**.” Zim’s knees hit the floor just in front of Dib, and much to Dib’s surprise, Zim lets his forehead fall into Dib’s stomach. Dib feels his cheeks immediately heat up, the odd positioning not something he’d ever thought would happen with ‘future overlord’ Zim of all people. 

“It hurts so bad…” Zim whines into his shirt. Dib, unsure of what to do, awkwardly pats Zim’s head. He seems to appreciate it if the sad little noise he makes is anything to go by.

“Why avoid me then? I could…” He swallows thickly, forcing a word out he never thought he’d have to say to Zim in this context “ _help_ with that.” Zim mumbles something about wanting to figure it out for himself, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers through Dib. “Look, we gotta talk anyways.” Zim looks up at him, expression hopeful yet guarded. “Will you come over tonight and we can figure this out or something?” 

Zim considers the request for a moment, muttering under his breath, one hand coming up to curl around Dib’s hip before he nods against his better judgement. Of course, Tak walks in at that moment, takes one look at the two of them, Zim on his knees and all but hugging Dib’s stomach, and she immediately starts rubbing at her temples with her free hand.

“I’m beginning to _regret_ every decision that led me to this point.”

* * *

Tak lets him go almost immediately after Zim leaves. 

“He’s shameless.” She had commented the moment he was gone, and Dib didn’t have the guts to ask what that meant, just bolted the moment she rolled her purple eyes and waved him out. 

His stomach’s been a tight knot ever since. Zim’s coming over so they can have a look at his dick. Even after the teleport home, even after the hot shower and scarfing down a sandwich and changing clothes, Dib is ramped up to high hell on nerves. If only someone was around to slap him out of it.

It’s weird to be anxious about Zim coming over. It’s weird that he can’t stop pacing. It’s weird that he keeps checking his phone for the time. Dib even catches himself tidying up, but stops after the third sock he feverishly picked up. What the fuck is he doing?

Zim’s been in his apartment a dozen times. A hundred times. He’s never given a shit about how nice it looks, as far as Dib can tell. Dib drops the sock in the hamper and sits down on his couch, pushing up his glasses and pressing his palms into his eyes with an irritated groan. The anxiety sits in his guts like a rock, hard and immutable, panging around whenever he remembers the plan for the evening. And it’s driving him fucking insane. 

Dib’s wrestled with actual demons and impossible alien lifeforms before. He’s been in multiple dimensions several times and sometimes at the same time. He’s literally seen the Earth nearly get destroyed a hundred times over and spouted off the most inconceivable conspiracy theories like they were fact but dear God, Zim’s coming to his place and they’re most likely going to have some form of sex and Dib just can’t wrap his head around it. 

Its not that he doesn’t want to; fuck, does he want to. It’s all he’s been thinking about in the off hours between helping Tak and putzing around his apartment, that he and Zim might fuck around some more. 

The caveat is that he and Zim have to talk because honestly, Dib has no idea where they stand. It doesn’t help when the Irken refuses to see him. It doesn’t help that Dib feel like he’s walking on eggshells and he might irrevocably fuck up their relationship if he goes to far. Hell, it doesn’t help that he has no idea what their relationship even is, let alone how he can ruin it. 

Dib’s never had to ask that question before. He’s never had to dig down and really untangle the mess of he and Zim have become. They’ve always just been enemies nebulously in the back of his mind, but now, sitting on his shitty couch in his shitty apartment waiting for Zim to show up so they can figure out his _dick together_ , Dib comes to startling conclusion that ‘enemy’ hasn’t been the best descriptor for a very long time. 

Dib stands up. He’s pacing again. 

He cares about Zim, sure, obviously. That’s undeniable at this point. You don’t do the shit he’s done if you didn’t care at least a little. But Zim’s also single-handedly the most frustrating sentient being he’s ever known and he kind of hates him on some level still, even after everything. It shouldn’t be so comfortable to him that these two factors are not mutually exclusive.

It’s baffling, but Dib wouldn’t want him any other way. Shouldn’t he though? Shouldn’t he want someone better to be around all the time? Someone who doesn’t insult him with every other word out of his mouth and who isn’t constantly on the fence about just straight up murdering him? Someone who’s more open and, for lack of a better word, human?

But he just...doesn’t. Dib has never gotten other people. He’s not someone who goes out and makes friends. He never has been. Friendships never start and the few flings he’d had ended abruptly when the other person realizes what a closed off and strange person Dib is. Not Zim though; Dib couldn’t get Zim to leave if he tried and maybe that’s what he’s anxious for, that he’s finally found the thing that will make Zim toss him aside.

Dib doesn’t have anyone else he’d rather be around all the time, for better or worse. No one other than his sister has stuck around as long as Zim. No one puts up with him like Zim. No one takes Dib at face-value as unquestioningly as Zim. As awful and mean and genuinely terrifying as Zim can be, he’s the most constant thing in Dib’s life and he’ll be damned if he wants that to change. 

* * *

There’s a knock on the door and Dib stops his pacing to eek out a strained ‘it’s open’ as his voice cracks horribly, the pit of anxiety doubling in size. He brushes the wrinkles from his clothes, runs a hand through his hair, realizes he’s just standing awkwardly in the middle of his apartment for no reason, and practically trips over himself to sit on the couch in an effort to look normal. Dib thinks his heart might hammer out of his chest as Zim fiddles with the door knob.

The door flies open, revealing the disgruntled Irken who steps inside and slams the door back shut. 

“Why do you have your **door unlocked?** ” Zim immediately demands, pointing to the offending object as his left eyelid twitches. It's comforting how normal it is.

“Because you were coming over.” Dib states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world with a shrug.

“But there’s still...THINGS. AFTER ME!” While that’s true, Tak hasn’t given them any indication of anything entering the star system, which Zim knows.

“I’m-” He starts.

“And the Dib!” 

“I’m pretty sure they could get into my apartment with or without the door locked.” Zim scowls, opening his mouth to make a snide rebuttal. “Just lock the fucking door!” 

“Yes, good.” He does, pointedly as though he means to extract some form of superiority over Dib from turning the locking mechanism, and Dib is astounded at how quickly his anxiety had evaporated after their short exchange.

Zim’s still Zim. They are still them. Everything will be fine. 

Zim turns to him once he’s satisfied with the status of the door, gazing over Dib who is sat resting his arms on his thighs, and Zim sighs as he moves closer. It's quiet in the apartment building now that MiMi and Tak are no longer upstairs clunking around, the chilly afternoon adding to that unnerving hush, and Dib bounces his leg as he tries to look anywhere but Zim.

“Zim is... **here**.” Zim finally says, stopping just a few feet away with his arms crossing over his chest and his hindlegs folded neatly behind him. He gestures purposefully with one hand. “Speak your insolent... **words** .” Zim must notice Dib is surprised and he sniffs. “Do not look at ME with that idiot…FACE. You wanted to speak and I, in my _benevolence_ , am allowing it.” Zim waves it off, smugly. “Do not thank _Zim_.” 

“Right, okay,” Dib takes in a deep breath, steadying himself, mind awfully blank given that he needs to speak. “I just-” He scratches the back of his head, glancing at Zim who is shockingly listening with intent. “I just want to know where we’re at with all of this.” 

Zim’s chuckle is sudden and deeply annoying. 

“Ho, ho ho! Idiot weak human.” His lip is curled in disdain. “Needing to define every little pointless thin-”

“Zim,” Dib cuts him off, with as much authority as he can and Zim is taken aback. “I’m not going to get into this with you if you’re just using me to get off and then tossing me out once you get bored or whatever...”

“Zim has no intention of casting the Dib aside!” His arms have dropped, claws balled into a fist, his expression offended.

“How do I know that?” Dib snaps back, righteous anger filling him. He doesn’t realize he’s stood up until he notes Zim’s change in posture, having to crane his neck to look up at him. “I don’t know how you feel about this shit. You changed in a way you apparently weren’t supposed to and you’re acting like everything’s fucking fine and now we- we’re-”

“Doing the sex thing.” Zim supplies as if it's the easiest thing in the world. Dib steps back and sits back down, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Yep, cool. _That._ ” He hunches over, clasping his hands between his spread legs and pursing his lips. He’s glad Zim can say these things. “And you don’t fucking tell me anything so how am I supposed to know this isn’t fucking with you at all?” He levies Zim with a questioning gaze. “Emotionally, or whatever?”

For what feels like hours, Zim’s stare roves over him. It’s uncomfortable, how unguarded Dib is, how much he’s trying to get across in words he doesn’t know how to say. He cares, maybe too much, in ways he couldn’t describe, in ways he's never wanted to get this close to understanding. They can yell and shout all they want, but at the end of the day, they’re communicating concepts neither quite understand.

“Zim…” Zim starts, finally, carefully, “is not human. Humans are weak, **emotional** things. Your **horrible** species ascribes feelings to every facet of your short _insignificant_ lives. Irkens do not **_feel_ ** like you.” He comes closer, closer still until he is just in front of Dib who hasn’t moved an inch. 

“These... touchy... things between us are physical and nice but it does not affect Zim’s brains the same way it does yours.” Zim softly, as though he’s not quite sure how, places a hand on the junction of Dib’s neck and shoulder. It’s surprising, odd, to have Zim voluntarily touch him not for violence or a selfish want but merely to offer comfort. “To me, it changes little.”

Dib shivers as a clawed thumb lightly rubs circles against his collarbone. He covers the fingers with his own, equally careful and slow as if he may scare Zim away with any movement. Zim gives him a long unfathomable gaze that is both comforting and unnerving in a way that only Irken knows how to be. 

“So where does that leave us?” Dib asks hushed, looking up at the alien standing over him. Zim shrugs.

“Eh, as far as me and my _amazing_ self care, your disproportionately sized **head** belongs to Zim.” He slides his hand out from under Dib’s to step back and gesticulate his point to the air, partially turned away from his audience. “Whatever you chose to call _this_ makes no difference to me.” Dib chortles, fighting a grin.

“Belong to you? Since when?” Zim’s antennae stand to attention as he turns his head to glare at Dib for something so obvious.

“I have always had ownership over your pathetic self, worm.” He assures, sneering as he does. “Just because _you_ refuse to see it…” 

“Huh. Sounds kind of like an emotional attachment, Zim.” The Irken is clearly affronted, before he starts spluttering. 

“Zi- YOU....” He looks around desperately, searching for something to change the subject. He gestures around the whole apartment, snarling, “The Dib’s **home** is a _horrible_ **putrid** MESS. AND. You do not seem to be preparing for **departure**. _Why do you vex Zim_?” 

Immediately, incredibly, back to normal.

“Oh? I didn’t realize I was going anywhere.” Dib teases slyly as he slowly stands back up, knowing how to push Zim’s buttons.

“Why would you not be, Earth-worm?”

“Well, I guess my _owner_ never asked me.” Zim’s eyes roam over him, sticking his lower teeth out. Dib can’t quite tell if he’s figured out Dib’s game yet. 

“Do you _need_ to be asked?” His words are slow and it's Dib’s turn to shrug nonchalantly before he stands up. 

“Well…” He takes a moment to figure what he’s going to say next as Zim’s gaze is getting narrower and narrower. “I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was smuggling myself aboard or whatever.” 

“There is no smuggling! No one has say over what Zim decides to bring.” He says incredulously, smugly, before his eyes widen as he realizes the omission. Dib fights the shit-eating grin that threatens to break over his lips. 

“So you’re bringing me now?” Zim is visibly getting frustrated, teeth gritted, backs hairs to attention, hind legs creaking. It should be frightening, but Dib's enjoying it, how simple it is to work the Irken up with a little nonsense.

“I-...th-the Dib can come if he _wishes._ Zim does not **care**.” 

“Really?” Dib wets his lips. “What if I don’t want to go? Maybe I want to stay right here.” 

Zim considers him, lip curled, antennae twitching in irritation. His legs start to fan out, their length impressive inside the small apartment. There’s that heat in his eyes again, frustrated and wanting like he can’t tell if he wants to rip Dib apart or _consume_ him. 

Dib takes a chance, steps in closer. He keeps his hands to himself, behind his back, makes himself as tall as he can. Gets right in Zim’s face to lord over him in a way that makes his teeth grind in absolute indignation.

“What are going to do about it, space boy?”

* * *

“You know, this would be easier on your back.” Zim sneers down at him, tightening his knees on either side of Dib’s chest and flicking him in the forehead.

“Zim cannot _be_ on my **back** , fool boy.” His folded hind legs shift as if to illustrate that point. “Besides, your puny human skin has gone all pink. The Dib seems to enjoy the positioning.” 

Dib understands that the bitchy expression he’s giving the alien is undermined completely by the noise he made when Zim shoved him down onto his bed or the dumbfounded excitement in his eyes when Zim first straddled his chest, but he’s giving it anyway. He gives a half-hearted whatever, and starts pushing down the band of Zim's pants.

"You're gunna have to take these off." He notes, swallowing at the strip of green he's revealed. Zim rolls his eyes, tsking and grumbling but shifts to do as instructed and Dib wonders if you can have an aneurysm from having so much goddamn blood in your face.

How many times? How many times has Dib seen Zim nude in the past ten years because of mishaps and a general lack of caring on Zim’s part? Even now, insisting on doing something he shouldn’t even be able to do, Zim is laissez faire, nearly tripping as he disrobes his legs and kicking the pants pathetically a foot away. He really isn’t bothered by any of this, is he? At least not as visibly as Dib is.

Dib drinks in the sight of him. Zim’s legs are thin, always have been, his recent growth adding little to the musculature of his calves or thighs. They’re oddly short as well, at least in comparison to his torso and arms, almost as if they and his odd tiny flat feet each ending in three toes were an evolutionary afterthought. 

“The Dib-thing’s sticky...EYES...watching-” Zim mutters, snapping Dib out of his inspection. Dib’s heart leaps as Zim clambers back into place, swinging those skinny fucking legs back to either side of Dib’s chest.

“You literally asked me to look at your genitals!” Dib shoots back, placing a hand on either side of Zim’s slim hips to steady him as he settles back in. Dib can’t help himself but look, bouncing between Zim’s grim expression above him and the slit between his legs now barely a foot from his face. 

He’s too warm; Zim is a furnace right now and Dib is still clothed. Is it the warmth Zim is giving off or his anxiety that’s making his palms sweat where they are placed shakily on Zim’s thighs? His mind is seemingly a buzz with more thoughts than he could possibly keep up with and yet incredibly unhelpful.

“Ehhh, IRRELEVANT.” Dib gets a hand to his face, pushing his glasses painfully into his nose and his head into the pillow. “Do as instructed, earth monkey!” 

Dib grumbles something about dirty talk as Zim takes his hand away to lean on the wall and glower down at Dib to his content. Swallowing again, Dib takes a moment to consider his next step. He traces circles with his thumbs on Zim’s thighs, staring hard at the Irken’s slit with a genuine curiosity. 

It’s flush to the crotch, no obvious bulging to belay what may lay underneath. There isn’t even any space between the two lips and if Dib had been farther away, he would never guess it could even part. It is neat and uniform, and if Dib hadn’t seen Zim’s dick already sticking out of it before, he wouldn’t be hard to convince it was nothing more than a clean, precise incision.

“Can you feel it when I touch you like this?” Dib asks, applying a little pressure to the simple touch of his digits on Zim’s thigh. His carapace doesn’t give like skin would under his ministrations. Zim shrugs, seemingly impatient and unaffected.

“Irkens are not as sensitive as the underdeveloped humans-” 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Dib moves on, stomach fluttering as he lets his fingers slowly trace their way from Zim’s thigh to the V of his legs. There’s a certain amount of hesitation, a niggling feeling of ‘is he really going to touch the crotch of the alien whose tried to kill him more times than he can count even though they’ve had a solid truce for a few years now-’

Despite that, Dib lightly ghosts a knuckle to the side of the slit, warmth blooming in his abdomen when Zim lets out an audible intake of air. 

“Seems kinda sensitive here.” Dib remarks smugly as he does the motion again. 

“Quiet.” Zim closes his eyes as if to concentrate and Dib takes the suggestion in stride.

The carapace around the slit is softer, looser in that it feels as though it has some movement to it as Dib traces either side with his index and middle fingers. He can feel the possible thrum of blood being pumped through hidden veins, the jump of muscles as nerve endings react to the unexpected stimulation. Either Zim doesn’t need much or he’s extremely pent up given how many little pleased sounds he’s making.

Dib runs his thumb down the line of the slit, humming at the warm fluid beginning to seep from there. That has a scent to it Dib can’t place, and he traces the line as he contemplates both the smell and his next step. The more he stimulates the area, the more lubricant seeps out and Zim grunts above him, having started watching with an arrogant curiosity. 

While it seems tightly closed, he wonders if he can get a finger in there as with each pass it becomes looser and looser.

“Can you…” Dib starts, unsure of how to ask. Zim cocks his head at his incomplete statement.

“What?” Instead of saying it, Dib presses his thumb in a bit, the slit barely giving under the pressure. Zim hisses as he continues to prod, stiffening as Dib changes tactics by pushing the very tip of his digit in between the drooling lips. It takes some wiggling, but he finally breaches.

Behind the initial barrier, it is tight, shallow, and his finger is stopped almost immediately by a slick obstruction, presumably Zim’s soft dick. It seems natural then, to rub the pad of his digit against it, finding that the penis beneath runs all the way from front to back. Zim had been making soft grumbles as if ready at any moment to shove Dib away, but upon these new ministrations, he lets out a surprised gasp, all but purring as Dib resumes, egged on by the positive response.

Dib let's his finger run back and forth, captivated by the way Zim's hips twitch with his touch, how soft and smooth the organ hidden just under the slit is, how it swells with each pass. Claws whisper against his hair, and he glances up to see Zim’s hand hovering above his head, fingers curling and uncurling as he leans on one forearm pressed to the wall. Dib wets his lips, an idea beginning to form the longer he continues to gently massage.

He takes his finger out, meeting less resistance and a sad grunt from Zim, and takes his glasses off to set them on the floor. Making up his mind, Dib then shuffles himself down a little on the bed.

“What-” His voice is thick, distant, “is the Dib do-” Zim’s whole body freezes when Dib’s mouth makes contact with his slit, maroon eyes going wide. It’s barely a kiss, lips just lightly pressed to the increasingly wet genitalia. He waits for Zim to shove him away, but when the alien continues to blink at him dumbly, he presses on. 

Dib gives a cursory lick along the beginning of the seam. Zim’s carapace tastes exactly as he smells: sterile and of nothing else. As he investigates further, mouthing along the slit with barely there kitten licks, fire coursing through his veins as his blood begins to rush southward, he finds that the fluid now dripping from the tight opening is vaguely sweet; an unplaceable subtle taste that matches its heady scent and that lingers on his tongue.

Zim’s dick is closer to the surface when Dib finally coaxes his tongue past the thin barrier and noise Zim makes when Dib gives it a broad stroke has his toes curling against his sheets. He does it again, and again, bolder with each motion of his tongue, hand on Zim’s hip encouraging his abortive, unconfident movements. Those claws finally slide into his hair as Zim trills, pressing Dib’s mouth more in between his legs and Dib gladly allows himself to be pushed in further, Zim’s thigh all but squeezing his ears.

It’s easy to lose himself to the motions, licking and sucking, coaxing the rapid swelling of Zim’s dick to the surface. He wants to see it again, get his fingers around it, maybe his mouth on it, and he mewls as he palms his own cock through his pants, breath hitching when Zim's grip on his hair tightens.

With a sudden snarl, Zim shoves Dib’s face away all but instinctively, his dick rapidly springing from its resting place with a lewd squelching noise. Pink and erect, it leaks onto Dib’s chest as it’s flexible tip curls around Zim’s trembling fingers which have reached down to hold it. Zim is less frightened this time, panting as he is clearly still unsure of his new genitalia yet there is little hesitation in the way he soothes the flat of his fingers over the silken surface. 

Up close, it’s easier to make out the minutiae of the newly formed penis. The top is smooth as Dib had thought, but the underside is ridged in slightly raised horizontal strips. The prehensile narrow tip moves with its own purpose across Zim’s claws. At its thicker base, there seems to be no internal testes present and Dib finds himself vaguely wondering if Irkens do not have them or if Zim’s unexpected pupation kept them from maturing.

Zim continues to pleasure himself, gingerly, curiously, as if lost in the motion until he catches Dib watching, enraptured. He cocks his head to the side, antennae perking, a slow grin growing on his mouth as some form of idea begins to formulate in his head. It takes Dib’s foggy brain a good moment to realize Zim’s sudden fixation on his open mouth seconds before the alien removes his claws from his dick to trace Dib’s bottom lip with a wet thumb. 

“H-uh,” Dib might pass out from how fast his blood travels south, cock jumping in his boxers as the hard point of a claw presses into his tongue. Zim grips his lower jaw, holding it open as if examining the interior of his mouth and Dib can do nothing but squirm under him. Shifting, Zim leans down, smirking, his dick squirming against Dib’s shirt, against his chest as if searching for something to put itself in. 

That might be Dib’s overactive imagination, but given how hard Zim is judging his mouth right now, he might not be far off either. 

“Zim might’ve found a good use for your loud mouth, fool boy.” Zim purrs, shifting and letting his hand slide from Dib’s mouth to cup the back of his head, the points of his claws digging tantalizingly threateningly into his scalp. Zim wraps his other hand around himself and Dib goes easily as Zim gathers his head up, feeding his cock into his more than eager mouth. 

It’s surface is smooth on his tongue as Zim seats himself as much as possible with a pleased chirp, pausing momentarily to take in the new experience as he places a palm back on the wall for support. The tip of Zim’s cock ceases its wriggling the moment it hits his throat, switching into a slow drag as though it's feeling the cavity. The position would be awkward if it weren’t for the flexibility of Zim’s dick and Dib suppresses a cough, breathing through his nose, trying to commit everything to memory.

Zim begins moving, painfully slow, the tip dragging along Dib’s tongue before he presses back in and Dib’s mind blanks. His mouth full, nothing but the slick slide of alien dick and its sweet taste to fill him as Zim uses him. One of his hands curls around a green thigh, encouraging Zim and the other desperately opens his pants so he can paw at his own dick as Dib moans around the cock against his tongue. 

The high-pitched noise that Zim makes coupled with the way he thrusts harder into Dib who is barely registering anything outside of his own hand and the dick sliding past his lips with more and more desperation has his own cock dribbling against his fist. He leans into it, happy to do nothing more but suck hungrily on Zim as more and more fluid leaks into his esophagus, to lay back and take what he's being given. The knees on either side of his chest squeeze and claws scratch at his head to shove him in further and his whole sings from it. He wants more, wants Zim to fuck faster, harder, until he can’t even think from it.

Zim’s cock starts growing, definitely swelling further as Zim continues to pump in and out of his mouth, bumps and ridges and rough edges forming with every slide. Dib is drowning in it, barely able to breath as it fills his mouth and throat, its prehensile tip stiffening as its stroking motions cease as the cock conforms more and more to the shape of the hole it’s currently fucking. If his jaw wasn’t aching before, it is now, stretched to an obscene limit, and Dib is so fucking close-

Zim isn’t even really moving anymore, just rocking as he presses in deeper into his throat, back legs splaying out to balance him and his claws dig into Dib’s scalp, breaking the skin beneath his hair. One leg slams into the mattress between Dib’s own, its hard carapace just brushing his desperate fingers and leaking cock and Dib’s gone, all but screaming around Zim as his orgasm rips through him.

His world whites out, barely coherent, even as he feels Zim follow suit.

* * *

Dib sips at the glass of water that Zim had guiltily shoved into his hand as he laid there, useless, every bit of him twitching as he came down from an extremely hard post-coital high. The water burns going down; the curious anatomy of Zim’s dick having presumably rubbed his throat a little raw. He’s going to feel like shit in the morning for sure. 

A towel hits his stomach, and Zim returns to his side, looking out of place and clearly unsure of what to do. He reaches over, taking the rag and dabbing ineffectually at the mess around Dib’s neck that had leaked out of his mouth when Zim came. Annoyed, he snatches the towel from Zim’s hand.

Dib hoarsely tells him that he's got it, granting Zim a reassuring smile as he wipes himself down. The Irken lets him and, once he accepts Dib does indeed ‘got this’, he sits himself on the floor next to the bed. He'll have to teach Zim about aftercare some other time.

“You’re being nice.” Dib remarks to the alien watching him cautiously. 

“Zim simply does not want to hear about his inadequacies tomorrow.” Once satisfied he won’t be too ungodly sticky when he wakes up, Dib tosses the towel in the vague direction of away.

“Sure, if that helps you sleep at night.” 

“I have no need for **sleep**.” Dib huffs at that, letting his head hit his pillow and closing his eyes with a sigh.

“I know.” 

The room goes quiet save for his own measured breathing, oddly peaceful even with Zim in the room. Dib tucks the fact that getting off may mellow the Irken out away for later. There’s a faint scratching as Zim presumably traces shapes into his sheets and Dib waits for the Irken to grow bored and take his phone to watch something pointless on the couch. When he doesn’t, when Zim continues to sit on the floor, head still resting on the mattress, Dib opens his eyes to see he’s being looked over curiously.

“What?” He slurs, blinking sleepily. Zim’s doing the thinking thing again, head tilted, all but glaring at Dib’s face. 

“Can Zim…” He taps at the mattress. “Hmm...do something?” Brain still foggy, too close to just passing out, Dib can’t think of anything Zim would feasibly want to do.

“Yeah? I gue-” Zim leans forward, crossing the miniscule space between them, and presses his mouth to Dib’s. It’s hard to call it a kiss: Zim doesn’t have 'lips', not really, but it is a close enough simulacrum of one and Zim’s mouth is pleasantly smooth and warm as the rest of him. Dib sighs, trying to reciprocate but hip lips are mostly numb and he’s afraid he’s kind of useless.

It lasts too long yet too short, and when Zim pulls back, he is quietly complacent, expression open and antennae at attention. Dib exhales with a huff, closing his eyes when he’s sure Zim isn’t going to do it again, the alien having settled back into his previous position, albeit now centimeters away. 

“Happy?” Dib asks. He’s already fading, the edges of sleep closing in on him as his muscles relax into his lumpy mattress and, barely registering the noise of shuffling clothing on sheet, or the soft press of a forehead to his, or the barely there fluttering of antennae against his hair, he just makes out the quiet admission as he slips into unconsciousness.

“Yes.” 


	13. Chapter 13

Sitting in an auditorium that he was lucky enough to get a seat in given the sheer amount of students clamoring for it, Dib listens to his father speak for the first time in five years. It's difficult to parse the warring emotions in his head as he sees his father talking in person, so much so he barely understands anything that is being said.

Professor Membrane is as he always has been; tall, clad in a lab coat with ridiculous rubber gloves hiding his gnarly prosthetics with matching goggles that obscure his face. He speaks in a bloviated, self-important manner that is both captivating and irritating and the reason why there isn’t a single seat free in the whole room. Dib wonders idly if most of the students are here for the subject at hand on a new source of clean energy or just to see the famous science guy. 

Dib isn't here for the speech. It was an idea that he's been toying with for a while, that maybe he needed to tell Membrane he wouldn't be on Earth anymore. Or, at the very least, not in town. He doesn't know why he feels compelled to do so, just that he is. Thankfully Tak allowed them to wait before leaving until Membrane's presentation so Dib could see him in a neutral space.

When Membrane starts taking questions, there’s a snide part of Dib that would love to ask something. To publicly bring up the back office projects, the human experiments, the things Membrane hides from everyone, up to and including the subjects of said experiments. He wants to see the professor hear his clone’s voice and squirm for just the briefest of seconds on stage in front of hundreds of his fans before he wipes it all away under the cover of ‘dark internet conspiracy’. 

Dib would love nothing more than to get even the smallest comeuppance on Membrane. He almost raises his hand to flag down one of the pacing moderators of the discussion to be put in a queue for his question. It burns on his tongue, in his mind, just to see what his father would do if someone publicly brought it up. 

He doesn’t, though. Dib isn't here to fight, just to say goodbye and give Membrane his checks back. He touches the envelope in his pocket, as if to be sure it's still there, and sits back to wait for it to be over.

* * *

The crowd files out and Dib goes against the flow of students eager to get back to their dorm rooms or get to the bars for the Friday night social hours so he can catch up to Membrane. A T.A. stops him for just a moment until Dib impatiently asserts he’s here to see his dad and the guy steps aside.  He eventually finds the professor out in the hall behind the auditorium, pausing to check his phone in his rush to get back to the lab. 

It should be infuriating to see him this close in person again. Dib should want to fight, to yell, to express every grievance he has as explicitly and pointedly as he can. To make his dad feel even an iota of the pain he’s dealt with. He doesn’t though. Those pain points, those years of neglect, those lies don’t come to the forefront. As he walks up to Membrane, Dib is nervous, wired, prepared to regret this stupid idea, but he isn’t angry. 

He just wants to move on with his life.

Wordlessly, Dib stops just in front of him as his father turns to greet him, and holds out the envelope before Membrane can say even a single booming 'hello'.

“I’m leaving.” Membrane takes the envelope, unsticking the tape that holds it closed. An eyebrow raises as he pulls out one of the voided checks that Dib hastily stuffed in there this morning. Dib scratches the back of his neck, overcome with a sheepishness like a teen trying to get across a stupid decision. “And those aren’t going to do me any good where I’m going.” 

Dib doesn’t imagine Membrane will read the note that’s in the back. The envelope will most likely go into a shredder the moment his father gets to his office. It's a thought that crossed Dib’s mind a lot as he was writing it the night before, but he finished it regardless. Now, he fights himself not to visibly fidgets under the gaze of the man who is in every way his mirror.

“I’m going with a friend and my-” Dib pauses his anxiety ridden speech, long enough for Membrane to grow visibly impatient as he tries to figure out the right word. There really isn’t one to describe Zim and Dib isn’t sure if Membrane even remembers his ‘little foreign friend’. “Partner.” 

There’s those eyebrows again, raised higher than Dib’s ever seen them, almost disappearing into Membrane’s nonexistent hairline. He makes a noise of disbelieving acknowledgement, looks at the open envelope again. Some college kids walk by, one shouting ‘I love you Professor Membrane!’, and both Dib and his father ignore them. 

“I might not be coming back.” Dib asserts to break the tension, to reaffirm this is serious and not some fit of 'insanity' or 'whimsy' as his father would often discredit his plans and wants as. Dib is fixed with a look, unknowable as his father’s eyes are, as always covered by goggles. 

There was a point in Dib’s life when he wondered if his dad even had eyes, if he was just more machine than man. As a small child, Dib had even tried and failed several times to see under the eyewear, always thwarted by an ever vigilant father. That fell to the wayside as he got older, but it had always been in the back of his mind, though the reasoning for Membrane to hide his face became clearer after unforeseen circumstances. Standing here, now, Dib is glad the goggles are firmly in place.

There is no mystery left and Dib no longer wants to see his dad’s face. He doesn’t want to see his own staring back at him. He doesn’t know what that would do to him.

“Is your sister going?” It’s the first thing his father has said to him in years, and, as always, it concerns Gaz and her well-being. Dib wonders if Membrane heard anything he said outside of ‘leaving’. 

When Dib shakes his head, Membrane visibly relaxes. There’s a gloved hand on his shoulder creating a lateral bridge between them. Dib is nearly as tall as his father now and he has to wonder when he’ll gain his girth as well. 

“There always comes a time when a person has to leave the nest to try and learn more about themselves.” Membrane slips into the well used advice voice, spouting the wisdom of the ages as he feels it is his duty to do so instead of talking to his ‘child’ as if they are in need of human interaction. “Whatever you find for yourself, I will support it 100%.” It’s a bold-faced lie and they both know it as Membrane squeezes his shoulder past the point of comfort. 

“Sure.” Dib doesn’t flinch and the hand leaves him. Membrane tucks the envelope into his coat pocket, patting the outside. 

“Well, good luck on your little trip Dib.” He turns around, begins walking away as he waves over his shoulder. “Be sure to stop by the house when you’re back in town.” 

“Yeah.” Dib answers under his breath. He doesn't know what he expected, but this is fine. This is a relief.

It’s almost cathartic seeing Membrane disappear around a corner down the empty hall, to hear him leave through a slammed door. The last time he saw his father walk away, Dib felt nothing but confusion and pain as his world had been turned inside out.

Now, he feels nothing but relief. He’s leaving the planet, and he has a new life ahead of him.

His text notification sounds off. It’s Gaz, bemoaning that she’s been waiting two minutes too long in the cold parking lot in her heated car. Rolling his eyes, Dib takes off in the opposite direction as Membrane, quickly sending a response that will undoubtedly get him playfully smacked the moment he sits down next to her. 

He doesn’t mind though. It’s the last time he’s going to see her for a while, and she’ll undoubtedly be more frustrated when they get Zim and GIR in the car.

* * *

_ By the garish Earth calendar that wretched robot has in the kitchen, the one with the smelly IDIOT penguins on it, it is December 5th. The Dib will be here soon to take me and GIR to Tak’s ship.  _

_ Finally, I am leaving this  _ **_horrible excuse of a PLANET. YOU CAN NO LONGER CONTAIN ZIM, EARTH._ **

_ Much to the ire of those  _ **_traitorous_ ** _ Control Brains and their deluded judgement, I will no longer be stuck on this pointless DIRT….PLANET for them to send their useless _ mercenaries _ to try and capture Zim in my new **amazing** form. And when more mercs come, they shall find NOTHING.  _

_HILARIOUS._

_ I will be long gone. Free of this burdensome planet in exchange for whatever  _ **_Tak_ ** _ requires and then once I, ZIM, gather the necessary resources and  _ minions _ , I will be coming for the Control Brains.  _

_ They will rue the day they ever thought to  _ **_banish ZI-_ **

“Hey.”

_ Dib-thing! Are you INSANE  _ **_sneaking_ ** _ up on Zim? _

“Probably. You ready to go?” 

_ Yes. Yes, one minute. Get your distracting hands off Zim, and let me  _ **_finish my log_ ** _.  _

“You knew we were going to be here at 7:30.” 

_ SILENCE, STINK BEAST. I will be done in a minute.  _

_ … _

_ You may leave Zim.  _

“Alright, just don’t make Gaz wait too long.” 

_ The Dib-sister will be... _ **_pleased_ ** _ by how short of a time it takes Zim to finish! _

“Please, God, don’t ever word it like that again.”

_ I will word things as I  _ **_please_ ** _ , Dib! _

_... _

_ He has left Zim. _

_ As I was saying, this is my final day on Earth. A planet unworthy of conquering even by the Armada with people with so little use, I would not even enslave them. It has offered me LITTLE outside of pain and misery and miserable… _

_ PAIN.  _

_ I leave this place as I found it: Ugly. Smelly.  _ **_Stupid._ **

**_UNCONQUERED._ **

_ With one exception.  _

_ There’s one thing I’ve found worth seventeen of these wet dirt rocks combined. I’m  _ **_taking_ ** _ him with me and this planet will be all the worse without.  _

_A fact that is_ ** _delicious to me._** **_Yes. So very scrumptious._**

**_AND IT IS MINE._ **

_ This is Zim, logging off for the final time. Goodbye Earth. We will not  _ **_miss_ ** _ you.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final thoughts: This fic was supposed to be like 30k words long. Oh well. I had fun. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading this wordy mess and I hope you enjoyed. Maybe I'll write more ZADR shit in the future, either in this AU or for something else. Let me know what you think and if you have any questions, comments, concerns.


End file.
